


Alternative Facts

by InchByInch



Category: Homeland
Genre: F/M, Therapy, alternative 6.12
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2017-11-13
Packaged: 2018-10-20 00:33:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 21,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10651332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InchByInch/pseuds/InchByInch
Summary: Final.  Epilogue is posted.There is no heartfelt hug after the Flag House explosion. Instead, Carrie is injured.





	1. All About Astrid

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much to AsCloseAsThis and Pinkys143 for editing!

_ Ow. Ah, fuck. What the… Shit! The garage was set to explode. Oooww! Something fucking HURT. _

Carrie had seen it just a moment too late. She ran towards the garage door shouting, and then she was lying on the concrete driveway, seemingly stuck to the ground, the smell of smoke and accelerant stinging her nose and lungs. Everything was strangely entirely silent. Quinn was there, thank God, bent over her and efficiently checking her body while using his right hand to do something painful to her midsection. He was covered with dust, soot, and blood. 

“Quinn.” Her voice sounded strange to her.

“------”

“They booby-trapped the garage. Sekou’s van is destroyed. I’ve got to find the Solicitor General. Your immunity…”

“-----”

Quinn was talking but she couldn’t hear him. Fuck. She couldn’t hear anything… except maybe there was a high pitched ringing?

“I can’t hear you. It hurts like fucking hell.”

“------“

“It hurts, Quinn.”

He looked worried. Fuck. She had to warn Elizabeth.

“Where’s my phone?”

Quinn’s death stare was easy to interpret. He wasn’t interested in helping her find her phone. He wanted her to lie still.

“East coast time, Quinn. Rob, Keane’s chief of staff, said there was some kind of threat to the President Elect. A Delta team was coming in as additional protection.”

Quinn stopped moving and looked right at her for just a second. Then he shook his head and wrinkled his nose. She still heard nothing but she could tell what he was saying: “Doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it matters.”

“---------” She couldn’t hear him, but she could make out he started with “We can’t.”

“Quinn…”

He looked at her for several moments. Then he stopped his efforts and stood up, looking around for where her phone might have been thrown by the blast. He returned a few minutes later, hunched down next to her, and manipulated the phone with his right hand. How the hell did he know her passcode? Life with a spy. She watched him speak into the phone, able to make out some of his words by reading his lips. She was increasingly tired and dimly aware that a fire engine and maybe an ambulance were arriving.

“Saul? Peter Quinn.  -----------------------------”

*****

Quinn considered the situation as he looked around the blast site for Carrie’s God-damned secure phone. The secret service had given her the phone to communicate with Keane. Quinn had hacked into it and examined it pretty thoroughly the other night when Carrie was giving Franny a bath. In his judgment, the SIM card was not accessible to the NSA or General McClendon, but he couldn’t be sure.  _ Fuck. Just risk it. _ He picked it up from where it had fallen on the grass and looked up the number in the contacts.

“Saul? Peter Quinn. I’m with C-Carrie. She’s been injured…”

“Quinn? What happened? I stayed at her house last night. She never came home.”

“Bomb. EMT’s are here. Carrie thinks Mc-McClendon may try to assas..ass…kill Keane with a Delta unit. They’re on their way to a-assist Keane’s detail n-now.”

“McClendon? Fuck. Well, he is a complete asshole, but Delta Force? That makes no sense. Are you sure? Those guys are smart and dedicated. No way they’d take action against a US official.”

“Agreed. He must have t-targeted these specific… I saw them sw- swap… the night before the bomb. Now the boy’s van is here… the delta team’s staging h-house.”

“They were behind in the Manhattan bombing? Shit.” Quinn heard Saul sigh heavily. “Max called a short while ago. He also has evidence suggesting Keane is at risk, and for some reason,  **you** are being set up as the fall guy.”

“What?”

“I can’t figure any of this out, but I’m going to take it seriously. I’ll be with Keane shortly. Can I trust her people?”

“I think so. D-Dar is involved.”

“Yes, but it's complicated. What should I tell Keane’s security detail? The Secret Service is not military. I don’t think they are prepared to handle a delta unit….Quinn?”

“…E-expect communications to be com-compromised. So, radio s-silence. Hide Keane in the h-hotel. That's the… safe place.” If things really went south, they'd need to put the decoy at risk, but they already knew that.

“Got it. Let me know about Carrie.”

*****

Max shivered as he dressed back in his clothes after toweling off from the shower. His adrenaline rush had subsided since Adal dropped him off at his place, but only slightly. Time to check out the ideas that had been percolating in his mind since discovering the false intel on Quinn. He fired up his desktop, hacked into the Onyx remote backup server and began investigating. Sure enough, “Toxic Soldier” wasn’t the only sock puppet with a familiar face. “Blonde Avenger” had been busy online as well, posting remarks about anarchy, burning the system down, and warning people about an event that was coming. Fuck. A fancy security system wasn’t going to protect Carrie against this type of threat.

*****

She was awake again, and on a gurney being wheeled to an ambulance. She looked straight up into the calm gray sky, noticing how peaceful she felt when the world was completely silent. Then Quinn was there, looking down at her and touching her shoulder with his right hand. He had a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. She smiled; he was saying goodbye. He understood how she’d want the comfort of his touch right now and… wait.  _ Fuck, no. This is not fucking goodbye. I can’t lose you _ .

“No! No! Come with me! Fuck!” Carrie screamed, bucking and flailing so that the EMT’s had trouble keeping her gurney steady. The world seemed to lurch as she grabbed at Quinn’s jacket.  _ I lost control of the situation in Berlin and that won’t happen now. _

The EMT seemed to be yelling at her, but of course, she couldn’t fucking hear, and also, she didn’t fucking care.

But the EMT was pushing Quinn away, and suddenly she thought about the difficulties she’d had getting access to Quinn when he was in the hospital. _ ‘Are you his wife?’ Fuck _ . No way the hospital staff would let a former colleague stay with her, especially struggling to speak as he was. All sorts of shit was going down and she was really hurt. He needed some authority to make decisions.

That wasn't all, of course. The real danger was that he would leave.  _ Again _ . But how to prevent that when she was so injured?

“He’s my husband!” she insisted. “I need him with me. Please.” Was she pleading with the EMT or Quinn? She stared at Quinn in horror for a second, but he rolled with it like a consummate professional. He spoke to the EMT’s and grabbed onto the gurney with his right hand, helping them load it into the ambulance. Carrie felt a wave of relief surge over her.

“Don’t leave me.” She said to him in a commanding tone. She didn’t have to hear his response. She knew it would be “OK,” and with that thought, she released all her efforts and slipped into unconsciousness.

*****

Quinn couldn’t fucking believe it when he saw the number pop up on Carrie’s phone. “Go fuck yourself.” The couple sitting nearby in the trauma waiting room both looked up in shock. Apparently, that wasn’t how they typically answered the phone.  

“Peter? I thought you’d be with her.” Adal’s voice conveyed exactly what he thought of Carrie Mathison. “Listen, the president-elect is going to be the target of a hit, possibly today. McClendon is planning to set you up as the fall guy."

_ Fuck.  _ “Don’t care.”

“Carrie might.”

“She shouldn’t.”

“Quinn, Carrie needs to warn the president-elect. Keane and her staff trust Carrie. She’s the only one who can get through to them.”

“Carrie’s in surgery.”

“Fuck. Then you’ve got to get the message to Keane’s people. McClendon’s got a dirty Delta unit.”

“I don’t gotta do anything. You could be pulling all the st-strings.”

“For God’s sake Quinn, you can’t imagine I’d champion a hit on a future president or a bombing inside the US? I just wanted more credibility in terms of Iran. As I’ve told you many times, the only way to win this game is to play both sides. If they do succeed, it won’t do anyone any good for me to be shut out of power. Our best chance is for them to listen to the voice of moderation and reason, but I can’t be that voice if I’m not at the table. I’ve neutralized Senator Coto, but there is still an ongoing threat from the Deep State. I have to stay viable.”

“I never heard of Senator Caleson and I don’t care about him.”

“Peter!”

Quinn sighed. “There’s a limit to how much sh-shit I can shovel to make sense of this clusterfuck. Call S-Saul.”

*****

Hospital. She knew she was in a hospital, a setting that had become so familiar recently. But this was different because she was the patient. Which made sense, because she felt like shit. Slowly it came back to her how she got here. Fuck. What about Quinn’s immunity deal? Was she right about the delta team being out to get Keane? Did anyone know she was right?

Carrie opened her eyes. The silvery winter light suggested mid-afternoon.  Thank God, Quinn was right there sleeping in the chair by her bed. Her ears were ringing, but she knew she was picking up some of the ambient sounds in the room. Quinn could help her.

“Quinn.”  _ Fuck _ . She must have been intubated. Her throat hurt like hell and no sound had come out. She swallowed to try again.

“Qu…” Before she could speak, she was struck by how gray Quinn looked — exhausted. God, he had been so miserable back in the flag house, before they started looking at the whiteboard. Figuring out the conspiracy would perk him up again and put the two of them on the same team, which felt  **so good** . They really worked well together.

“Qui…”  _ But _ .

She’d screwed up in the past by focusing on the thrill of the hunt and the impression that she was doing the right thing by fighting evil. She would never forget Astrid’s reaction to her “nine days” admission. So, sometimes a 40-year-old needs to come first. She’d heard that fucking shrink and she was going to try. She had tried, right away, tried to be a good friend to Max. And, to be fair, she had tried to put Quinn first by caring for him when he was incapacitated and completely disabled. That had seemed hard, but really, she had been in control. This part, putting him first now, was harder. He would do whatever the fuck he wanted now, and he wanted her to let him go so that he could give up on himself without feeling guilty. _ Fuck that. _ Eventually, she knew, her determination would not be enough.  How could she get him to understand “why” he should want to save himself? 

“Quinn.”

“Hey. How’re you feel… ?” He pointed to his ears.

He sounded like he was speaking to her from under water. Carrie shook her head to dismiss the question.

“I can’t believe it about Astrid. I don’t have too many friends, and what we went through together in Berlin... She was really good to me. I’m so sorry Quinn. You must be fucking upset.”

Quinn said nothing.

Carrie forged ahead. “After you left for Syria, I completely lost my shit and Maggie made me see a grief counselor. Apparently…” here Carrie forced a fake smile to indicate her contempt for psychobabble. “I cope with loss by compartmentalizing and focusing on a single goal, so that I don’t have any energy left to ‘process my feelings.’ My sister just calls it fucking cold.”

“What’s your point?” His tone was accusatory.  _ Fuck. _

She frowned with irritation. “My  **point** is that we all grieve in different ways. Anger is a normal thing to feel when dealing with a big unexpected loss. You seem to be feeling a lot of rage towards me and towards yourself. We all gravitate towards easy and familiar targets. I get that, and I can accept that, but I’m not going to let you… fuck.” She paused and took a deep breath, “I mean, I don’t think you understand what it would do to me if you left… or destroyed yourself.”

“I d-did destroy m-myself.”

Now Carrie looked confused for some moments. “You mean by beating that guy to death? Quinn, you are not him. He killed Astrid. You didn’t.”

“I am just l-like him. You need to understand… that.”

“What part of watching you bludgeon him do you think I failed to understand? Did it make you feel better?”

“What do you think, Carrie?”

At that point, the nurse came in and scolded both of them for not pushing the call button. Carrie needed morphine. She drifted into unconsciousness almost immediately.

*****

Thankfully the nurse didn’t notice the wheelchair that Quinn had “borrowed” from a corridor elsewhere in the hospital and stashed behind one of the privacy curtains in Carrie’s room. He was treading a fine line between making sure she had the treatment she needed and leaving them enough time to get away. He also had very little concept of how long it might take to discover the completely bogus insurance information and addresses he’d provided on Carrie’s medical forms. Less than 12 more hours, for sure.  

Quinn ran his fingers through his hair. He’d been able to divert the ambulance to a different hospital and he’d checked Carrie in under a false name, explaining that all of their identification had been destroyed by the explosion when their new electric car caught fire. If McClendon did pin this whole thing on him, none of these tactics would make more than a few hours of difference. Nevertheless, Quinn had reflexively maximized all his options. Carrie was so alone and his instinct was to be there for her. Time to reflect on that instinct.

_ God, she looks beautiful sleeping. _ The overhead lights were off and it was dark outside the tall window, but the yellow lights from the IV monitor bathed the room in a dim glow.  Yeah, she was most attractive when she was looking relaxed, not worried. And, of course, not talking. He probably should just leave her right now and let this image be his final memory of Carrie Mathison. What  **would** that do her? They’d both be better off without each other, right?

For sure, he’d be much better off alone. Assuming he could avoid getting killed by the authorities without her help.  _ No problem.  _ Then, he’d just rely on his instincts, which were to get drunk, to get high, and then to violently attack everyone who pissed him off.  _ Yeah, ‘alone’ is not going to work. _

He would just find some nice girl, someone who’d doggedly focus on clearing his name when he bashed a man’s head in right in front of her. Carrie hadn’t missed that he deliberately avoided the clean shot. Or, he could get a someone who’d still come running to him after he put her daughter through that ordeal for no good reason. He could easily find someone who’d help him relearn how to walk when all he had to offer was a bad attitude. Yep, no doubt he’d be better off without Carrie.  _ Right _ .

Quinn shifted his weight in the bedside chair -- his shoulder wound fucking hurt.  He couldn’t ignore that Carrie had not been there for him when he’d really needed her. She had just told the doctors to go ahead and give him a stroke so that she could be the one who saved the day in Berlin. That image actually made Quinn smile, thinking that Carrie wanted the glory associated with hero status. OK, so, she really had wanted to save others from the sarin gas. The idea of kids and happy people going through that hellish path towards death made his stomach clench. But shouldn’t he come first if she really cared for him? Couldn’t he ever come first? For someone? How could he really trust Carrie?

Quinn thought about Qasim, or maybe he was having a dream.  Quinn could see Qasim hold a bottle of water to Quinn’s lips the day before the gas chamber. But Quinn hadn’t even been able to think about taking a swallow, he’d been so consumed with convincing Qasim to fuck up the attack. For a minute Quinn felt that urgency again as intensely as he had at the time.  Some of the guys he’d served with over the years were the same way. Not all of them. But, the guys who thought and felt like he did, those were the guys he trusted the most.

_ Fuck me. _

Well, Carrie would definitely be better off without him because... because Carrie was all about the mission, and she had made it her mission to atone. She didn't need him or want him, she just felt guilty. Even now she was totally obsessed with the fucking immunity deal.  _ Fuck that. _ And well, OK, she’d called him on his shit last night, she  **had** been through hell with him these past months, so... well fuck that, too. Why would anyone  **do** that, except for guilt?

Why would  **anyone** do that?

That’s what he’d asked Astrid.

_ Motherfucker. _


	2. Why This Night is Different

“Denial of Service Attack.”  That was the technical name, but the simple reality was an onslaught that would overwhelm a server by sending in an ocean of digital requests, typically using input generated from thousands of innocent computers. The Onyx system was vulnerable.  They hadn’t taken adequate precautions because their URL wasn’t public.  Max knew it, however, and he knew exactly how to shut down the whole system, at least temporarily. The tricky part would be getting the timing right. He frowned at the two large monitors which took up his entire desk and opened a browser window to stream CNN.

*****

Quinn sat next to Carrie’s hospital bed, watching CNN’s coverage of the Keane attack without the sound. The atmosphere in the darkened room was almost peaceful. The beeping monitors periodically announced minor changes in Carrie’s heart rate or breathing, but mostly the room was quiet. Quinn kept reading the closed captions, even though the network was simply rehashing the same information, again and again, speculating just a bit more each time.

The President-Elect was said to be in stable but critical condition in an unnamed location. Quinn knew that could mean anything.

No word on who was responsible.

That part didn’t make any sense.  McClendon certainly hadn’t executed this plot without a scapegoat in place. He wasn’t an idiot. Dar and Max both thought it would be Quinn, but Quinn wondered if he hadn’t dreamed that. There were plenty of former SOG* officers who had served with McClendon, so why Quinn?  He was no special threat. His surveillance the night of the bombing had barely garnered enough information to impress Carrie. No one else would have paid it any attention. So, why? _Probably dreaming again. That’s the best explanation._ Of course, he still didn’t really understand why Carrie and her client had been targeted in the first place. That hadn’t been a dream.

Quinn sighed loudly and glanced back over at Carrie and then grunted with surprise when he saw she was awake, silently watching the screen with him.  

“Five dead.” She was referring to the information being presented on the newscast. “Saul?” she asked.

“Don’t know,” he said mildly. The dead were all from Keane’s entourage of advisors, so there was a reasonable chance Saul was among them. “You can hear… ?”

“Yeah. I think maybe only out of my right ear, and not very well. There’s a ringing.”

“Ears should heal up fine.  Happens with blasts. They’ve got you on Perc… meds for pain an-n-nausea. You might have vertigo, short-term.”

His words were calm, just like they had been when he’d talked to Franny.  Maybe she should just stay sick and he would be more comfortable with her.

“They operated on me?” she asked.

“Yeah, to remove shrapnel and r-repair... Piece of the d-door hit right in…“  He pointed to her midsection. “How do you feel?”

She made the most pathetic face he thought he’d ever seen on her. “That good?” he asked.  He turned off the TV with the remote and stood to lean towards her, brushing her hair away from her face.  She was clearly fighting tears. “Here.” He helped her push the button that gave her additional hits of morphine through her IV.

Watching her suffer brought him right back to his own time lying in a bed like this. Waking up after the coma had been misery, but her presence had been his lifeline. Seeing **her** like this now was painful — actually physically painful. _Fuck_.

“Don’t call the nurse,” Carrie begged.  “I’m fine, just dizzy.”  She took a shaky breath. “Are they blaming Muslim immigrants?” she asked.

Quinn didn’t answer for a few minutes as he concentrated on spooning her ice chips from a styrofoam cup the nurse had left earlier. “N-not yet… Dar and Max both thought they’d p-pin this… on me, but they haven’t.”

“You? Fuck, Quinn, you’ve got to get out of here. What did Max say?”

“I’m OK. S-Saul talked to Max. How is Max even involved?” Quinn continued his self-appointed task of administering ice chips.

“Max went to investigate… some kind of corporation.  My FBI contact traced the car you followed there.” Carrie took another shaky breath. “Fuck. I should have tied him down.”

Quinn paused his ice chip delivery midair and he blinked, confused. “A **corporation** is behind the b-bomb and the...thing with McClendon?”

Carrie rolled her eyes. “I know! **You** don’t connect to any of this. You were pretty well neutralized in Bellevue, and then again wherever you were with Astrid, right? So, why did they send someone to kill you? None of it fits with a plan to frame you.” Her voice was raspy, on edge.

 _The universe is out to fuck with me, clearly._ “Fuck if I’m gonna try to get this shit to make s-s-s.” He pointed to his head. “No one’s fingered me. We’re here under a f-false name, and we stay till the doctor examines you. If everything’s OK, we take off and l-lie low.” He gave an exaggerated nod to let her know he had everything under control.   _Right_.

“We need to make sense of this insane plot. Our first step should be to understand who and what is involved… ”

“No,” Quinn interrupted her. She was getting excited.  “Doesn’t matter.”

“Yes! Of course it matters. Quinn, I **need** your help. We can figure this out, and… ” Quinn interrupted her.

“Someone else will… We have other… things.”  He locked eyes with her for a moment.  “Do what I say.” He spoon-fed her more ice chips, “Here… f-for your throat.”

Carrie allowed him to feed her, and they were both quiet for a few minutes. He figured she was plotting an argument.

“Quinn, I… thank you for taking care of me.”

Quinn looked down, surprised. She was staring right at his face, her blue eyes soft with an expression of…appreciation? Affection? Desire. Quinn wrinkled his nose in confusion. _Maybe the drugs are affecting her?_

“Sometimes I wish you remembered more about when you woke up in Berlin,” she said. Her voice sounded husky. She closed her eyes again.

 _I remember_ . He knew what she was talking about. _I remember how good it felt when everything else hurt like hell._ He stared at her thoughtfully for several minutes. Now she was the one hurting. She opened her eyes and stared right back at him, but after a minute she let them drift close again as though she needed rest.

 _Well, fuck. Just…fuck._ He’d been telling himself for the past hour that now was the time to take off for good. She was driven by delusions of self-importance and trapped by her own narrow perspective. Hadn't he been obsessed for days by the thought that she’d deliberately caused his stroke? And then lied to him about it, for Christ’s sake? All that seemed unimportant as he looked down at her.

Now his mind kept wandering back into images from when he had first come out of the coma, feeling worse than shit. She’d been by his side, day after day, for months. Most of that time was like a half-remembered nightmare. She had shared his misery and absorbed his anger every step of the way. Her care was so constant it had eventually begun to feel like pressure, but even that was infinitely better than suffering all alone.  He wouldn’t have made it. No doubt about that.

 _She did all that because she felt guilty._ Except, the tenderness he remembered really didn’t seem like guilt. _I’m not in love with her anymore._ _I can’t trust her after she woke me. She has a fundamentally incompatible moral code,_ Yeah, maybe these thoughts he’d been having about her, maybe they were all bullshit. Carrie risked her own life as well as his to stop the attack in Berlin. She had been raising Franny and defending the innocent while he was getting high in brothels and pushing civilian women down stone stairs. Not to mention he’d punched Astrid and gotten her killed. Again and again, Carrie was unwilling to let him go even when he’d been a total asshole. His mind was a morass of paranoid delusions, but when he looked at her now, he felt the fear and mistrust dissolving away. At least some of it.

He knew exactly what Carrie wanted, too. He released the bed rail, then leaned over and carefully shifted her body until there was just enough room for him to slide in beside her, using his right hand to tuck his left arm close and finding a position that minimized his shoulder pain.

“Thank you,” she breathed.

They’d done it often when he was first waking up from the coma. There wasn’t much room in a hospital bed, but she was small. They had to lie close, almost on top of each other. He remembered feeling like all that contact with Carrie was healing him. He had lived for that feeling for a while, back when every breath hurt and he kept forgetting what the fuck was happening to him.

Now she was the one who needed healing, but he did too, and really, hadn’t it always been both of them? Quinn used to think they could heal each other, but not anymore. _We are both too fucking broken._ He couldn’t trust her motives, and he couldn’t trust himself not to fuck things up for her like he had for Astrid -- not to mention Franny. No way could the two of them hope to heal. So what the fuck was he doing cuddled next to her in bed?   _Motherfucker_. His mind kept spinning in the same circles.

Carrie wasn’t really asleep.  She nestled into him a bit and whispered, “What else do you remember?”

“Shh. Now you’re the patient. You do what I s-say.”

“So you are going to give me lip balm and I get to throw things?”

“Sounds fair. **Something** needs to ch-change between us.”

Carrie breathed out a small laugh.  “Yeah.”  She paused and pulled away a bit so that she could look directly at him.  “Quinn, why are you still here?”

“S-same reason you stayed with me. Because you have n-no one else.” He winced as he remembered Astrid’s anguished face when he’d told her they’d fucked because they were lonely. But when he looked down at Carrie, she didn’t seem hurt, just annoyed.

“Bullshit. That’s not why I stayed with you. So, you’re probably wrong about yourself. Or lying.” Her gaze didn’t waver.

He sighed, “We’re both completely f-fucked up, Carrie.”

She rolled her eyes. “That’s an understatement. I can’t believe you sent that... Clarice?...  to get me, and then I just up and followed her… Did you have sex with her? Clarice the hooker? When you made the video for me?”

 _What the fuck?_ “How is that y-your fucking business, Carrie?”

“Did you?”

“Jesus.” Was she just going to keep asking? _Stubborn bitch_ . “N-no. About six weeks ago, I p-paid her for a blow. That’s how I met her.” _Is that what you wanted to know?_

“Did you have sex with Astrid?”

“Fuck you. No.” No one wants to have sex with a monkey. _Not you, Carrie._ Not Astrid, either. “What’s it to you, anyway?”

“What do you think?”

“I think you’re f-fucking with me.” _The whole world is fucking with me._

“You’re an idiot.”

“Astrid said.”

“It pisses me off, Quinn. I… I hate this feeling... like you can just do things, and live your life… At any moment, you could just… take off, be with someone else, and I…” She trailed off without finishing her sentence.

“At least I knew wh-where I stood with those girls.” _What the fuck is her point?_ Quinn’s confusion was not helped by his shoulder ache getting worse. He wanted to figure out what she was saying, but her words were bewildering. _Stay focused, don’t drift off._

“But you don’t know where you stand with me, not after everything… after these past six months?”

“No.”

“Then we’re both idiots… Quinn… when Dar had you transferred to the Brooklyn VA instead of Walter Reed, I moved to New York. Do you remember that?” Carrie’s words were slow, but she clearly knew what she was trying to say.

He was silent. _Why did I never wonder how we both ended up in New York?_

“Franny stayed with Maggie in Virginia for almost two months while I was with you in the hospital in Berlin.”

 _What the fuck?_ Quinn was suddenly furious. “F-Franny a-always comes f-first, Carrie, and you fucking… n-n-… ” _Goddammit, fucking aphasia._

“Franny usually comes first, absolutely. But sometimes you come first, especially because you were fighting for your life.”

 _What?_ Quinn couldn’t make sense of her words. He felt his eyes starting to twitch. “N-no.  Because you felt s-sorry for me and g-guilty when… in B-Berlin. That’s why.” He spit each word out with tremendous effort. Quinn was suddenly consumed with a desperate need to just get away, anywhere, just away from Carrie and her upsetting, reality-distorting words. _Time to go. Just get up and walk out._

But he knew he was missing something, and he wanted to understand. _Fuck. What the hell is she trying to tell me?_

“No, no.” She shook her head. “I was so happy and relieved when you woke up from the coma,” she whispered. “So grateful.”

“I was angry.” It was a statement and a question.

Carrie huffed a laugh at that. “Furious. I didn’t push back because I knew it was my fault. But that was **not** the main thing.”

Quinn’s closed his eyes. That wasn’t how he remembered it, back in the Berlin hospital. The applesauce was too spicy but there was a therapy dog that sometimes came. He liked that. There was one day when he was working with a new therapist -- for some reason Quinn had blurted out, “No f-fucking way I’m doing that,” and Carrie laughed out loud at him, fucking **laughed** at how pathetic he was. He was pissed, but she seemed to enjoy that, which made him even angrier. He couldn’t get the words out to tell her off properly. She responded as though he had asked her a question: “You just said a whole sentence, Quinn, and you really meant it!” He answered that with “Go to hell!” which made the therapist leave, but Carrie continued to be pleasant. She was so full of pity that she refused to get mad but instead treated him like a child.

Back in the present his panic and anger dissipated. _Grateful and relieved. Fuck me._

He tried to concentrate on responding to what she had just said. As usual, she was fucking patient. “Not your fault.” He spoke slowly, and his voice was calm and steady. “You played Jonas s-so he’d babysit. I ran… straight back into another m-m-mission. Needed my fix. That’s why…this… in the first place.” Quinn took a deep breath and continued. “Same thing here, following that … w-watcher, Belli, even though I’m fucked up. I chase m-my own darkness, Carrie.”

“But it’s me, too, Quinn. I couldn’t **just** take care of Franny and you and my clients. That should have been enough, but, nooo, I had to advise the future president. That has got to be the catalyst for that fucker watching our house in the first place.” Carrie’s voice was betraying a high level of emotion.

He felt a wave of affection for her crazy scheme to influence US policy. “For Christ’s sake, Carrie. Don’t punish yourself for being a-ambitious. C’mon. Let’s get some sleep.”

“Yes, punished! I’m being punished just for… being who I am. Fuck, don’t leave me, Quinn.” Suddenly she was fighting tears again. “Sorry… I’m sorry. God, I feel like shit.”

“Shh. I’m here, Carrie. Not g-going anywhere,” he whispered. _Fuck me. Now I’m stuck._ He sighed. _Fucking idiot._

But she said nothing, just squeezed his arm and then drifted into sleep. Quinn reflected on her missed doses of lithium combined with the trauma and the heavy drugs they gave her as she recovered from surgery. He sighed and set the alarm on her phone to remind him to take his own drugs in the morning before settling himself to fall asleep. He would need to take better care of himself now that Carrie was so out of it.

 

*Special Operations Group - CIA covert military force

 

*****

It was two hours later when she woke up and groggily demanded that he get out of her cramped bed. He automatically moved to do so, but then he hesitated.  “No.” _We are not playing a game where you invite me into your bed then kick me out at your whim._ Besides, he liked being this close to her. She smelled like smoke and antiseptic.   

Carrie huffed angrily. “Sometimes I hate you.” She fisted his shirt in her hands and pulled him close. “I feel terrible. My ears won’t stop ringing and I am seasick even though I’m lying still. And, my middle hurts.”

“Yeah. More morphine.”

She obediently pushed the morphine button, but she was still twitchy and irritated.  “It’s not all about the mission, Quinn. I don’t get how you don’t know that.”

Had it only been last night when he’d been so angry? Well, he was still angry, but something had shifted. He sighed and tried to give her a real answer. “Carrie, when you came to see me … in that place, the bad place, you just asked about the b-boy’s van. The bomber. I c-can’t trust you.” _I can’t trust my own thoughts, really. Can’t trust myself not to get you hurt._

“Can’t trust me? Because I put the mission first? Well, fuck you, Quinn. The person I trusted most once **shot** me for the sake of his mission.” She wasn’t loud, but there was anger in her words, even as she clung to his shirt.

“Fuck, that’s d-different. Someone else would have sh-sh-… worse… Could have been …bad.” _Wait. Who did you trust most?_

“Quinn, you shot me because Dar ordered you to so we could turn Javadi. You could have chosen to miss me entirely.”

Quinn barked out a laugh. “You made yourself crazy and were …in the …place, the hospital place… all for that...Javadi play.  Totally different.”

“So? You’d gotten yourself gassed while trying to stop that cell in Berlin.  The only difference is the outcome, Quinn. God, I wish I hadn’t woken you up. I am **_so_ ** sorry. You probably would have stopped Saul if it were me, but maybe not.”

“I would never… a-allow that. F-fuck Berlin. Fuck them all.” _Right._

“What about taking off for Syria?  How fucking important was that mission that you had to leave me when I needed you, right after Dad died, right after that entire clusterfuck at the embassy? You just fucking left. You don’t know it, but the outcome of that decision pretty much sucked for me. I lost everything all at once.” She was clearly still pissed.

 _Sucked for me, too, that’s for sure._ Quinn was silent. It was kind of an angry silence, but he still had his arm around her. “You seemed OK when I found you in B- Berlin,” he was surprised by the venom in his own voice.

“That was two-and-a-half years later, you bastard. You **know** I had to move forward,” she growled. “Why?” Her voice was choked with emotion. “Why did you leave?”

His voice was very quiet. “My team …needed me, my friends. But also … I just … **you** left **f-first** .” He scowled at her angrily. “You w-went to **fucking** M-Missour-r-ri.” He could barely get the words out. So, now it was clear to both of them that he was harboring emotions left over from old decisions, too.

Carrie took a shaky breath. “I thought I would fuck things up between us just like my dad did with Mom. But when I talked to her -- it was never about Dad being bipolar.  My mom is just an asshole. So, you’re not going to leave me because I’m crazy, just because I’m a cold bitch. There is no drug for that.”

_ So, did she go to Missouri because of what I was asking? _  “Carrie…” His voice was soft, not angry anymore, but she interrupted him anyway.

“It’s true. I should have told you how much your words  **meant** to me — just the fact that you suggested that, even for a moment, that changed how I thought. You  **needed** me to say something, but I needed to deal with my own shit first. I just… fucked everything up. That’s why you feel heartless, hopeless… because **I keep fucking up.** I can’t figure out what to do, how to make you feel… what I want you to feel. How fucked up is that?” Carrie’s words trailed off. She was clutching his left hand and massaging it while he stroked her hair with his right. No doubt about it, fighting was better when they held each other close instead of walking away entirely. Way better. But he still had to make her understand.

“I’m just a killer, Carrie. Not because of y-you.” His voice was low, but his thoughts raced. _I killed Astrid, because I didn’t trust her. I can’t be around Franny because I try to solve every problem with a gun. That’s what I do._  

“My m-mind only knows how to see… enemies.” _When you saved me, I thought you were taking me down._

“Jesus, Quinn, you need to give your mind a fucking chance to heal. Not just from the stroke, but from… everything else.  From whatever happened in Syria. From whatever happened before. Please…we need to give you a chance.”

She was begging him.

Hadn’t she seen? He had pushed it in her face. He was a subhuman ape and a brutal killer. He didn’t deserve a chance to heal. _What the fuck was her problem?_

Carried sighed. “I’m so sorry I asked about the bomber when I came to Bellevue. That’s how I got access to you, for just five minutes. I was afraid another bomb would go off.”

“No.”

“God, Quinn, you make things so hard. You looked like a truck ran over you. Did you want me to kiss your bruises? I wouldn’t have been able to stop crying… I… Fuck, Quinn. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I let that happen to you. You didn’t deserve that. I know you. You have a fucking wonderful heart.” Carrie’s voice shook.

The silence stretched out. _What if she had said that, back at Bellevue?_  “Maybe I did,” he said very softly. “Maybe I did want you to k-kiss my bruises.”

They were both quiet for a minute. “You’re nothing but bruises,” she whispered. Then she gently reached her arms around his neck pulling him closer so that she could kiss his eyelids. “Here, and here,” she kissed him again, and then trailed her lips down his cheek to his mouth, while her fingers slowly caressed him from his jaw to his shoulder then back into his hair. Every spot she touched seemed to burn with exhilaration -- too intense to be a dream. He stopped breathing. “So many bruises.” She kissed his mouth again and this time he kissed her back, a long, lingering kiss. He suddenly remembered the night those years ago, and for a few seconds, he didn’t know whether he was leaning against a truck or lying in a hospital bed. But then he was firmly anchored to this time and place by the hesitant touch of her tongue, the smell of her skin, the sounds of her shaky breath. God, he loved her. He did. _Fuck._ He pulled back a tiny bit so that he could breathe.  

“You know, Quinn, you can ask for what you want. I do a shit job of taking care of you, but I can be better if you tell me what to do. I promise I’ll listen. Think about it.” She nestled against him and closed her eyes.

He was still trying to catch his breath. So. He’d clearly been mistaken the past couple months when he kept wanting to get high. He should have gotten Carrie high.

This is what he’d been wanting, this feeling of being physically cherished by her. And suddenly one thing became abundantly clear to him, cutting through all his mental confusion. Carrie was not his enemy. She may have hurt him many times, in many ways, but ultimately she was his savior.

 


	3. Four Men Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been a long time, but I hope to finish up soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks, as always, to Pinkys143 and AsCloseAsThis!

Quinn did move back to his chair when the nurse came around 4:00 am to replace Carrie’s I.V. medication and fluids. The chair was designed for sleeping — it tilted back and was in some ways more comfortable than the bed. He slept there surprisingly well until the doctor made rounds shortly before 6:00 am, which was important because the sleep would really help his cognition for the next few hours. 

The doctor was pleased with Carrie’s recovery and she spoke to Quinn like he was responsible, ignoring his bombed-out appearance and the dust he’d left in Carrie’s bed. A doctor speaking to him like he was an adult was a welcome change. Of course, the staff at the VA might have treated him with more respect if he hadn’t acted like a deranged jackass. Fortunately, he didn’t have that luxury in the current situation. 

“If all continues to go well, we can look at discharging her tomorrow or the day after.” 

_Or, I can discharge her right now._ Quinn reviewed his plan as the nurse followed through on the doctor’s orders for a new IV bag and a fresh dose of medicine. The mental repetition was a trick to help him hold onto his thoughts. First, he would get Carrie out in the wheelchair. He’d checked on the way in yesterday that there were no security cameras on this floor or in the elevator cars, but even so, he would put his hoody over part of his face and he had grabbed a sterile bonnet for Carrie’s hair from the ER. Then, he could steal a car from the hospital parking lot, drive away, and switch to another car, something from a long-term lot that wouldn’t be reported stolen for a while. They should be able get away from the city and check into a hotel under an assumed name. 

At that point, he would have a list of issues to face. Figure out what drugs Carrie needed and get them for her. Figure how much danger they were each in and how to avoid that. He should probably put his own gunshot wound on that list — it hurt like a motherfucker, which was beginning to get tiresome.

And Franny.

Franny. She clearly wasn’t simply home with the babysitter, or even off with Maggie or Max. Carrie didn’t want to talk about it -- probably worried he would smash in another head when she told him what happened. Hell, there was a good chance his fury would be directed towards his own head, or possibly Carrie’s. They had avoided the discussion because the topic was too painful for both of them, but he would have to bring it up. He had to understand Carrie’s motivations better. _Time to figure shit out and act._

The first snag in Quinn’s plan came when Carrie sat up to transfer to the wheelchair. She vomited all over herself. OK, so, Dramamine for motion sickness caused by the damage in her inner ear. First drug on the list. Quinn had seen enough blast injuries to have anticipated that possibility and he could get some from any pharmacy. For now, she’d just have to move slowly. He cleaned her up (kind of) and tucked the entire stack of clean hospital gowns along with sheets and towels from the cabinet into her lap. Best to be prepared, and they also served to hide the gun he’d stolen from Tommy the pimp. He’d lifted a real weapon from one of the dazed officers in the aftermath of the Flag House bombing, and that gun he stuck in the waistband of his jeans. Now they were ready. 

Quinn wheeled Carrie down the hall and past the busy nurses’ station without attracting so much as a glance. They slid right in the elevator, but, just as the doors began to close, they hit the second snag in the plan. 

Two attackers dressed as civilians pushed into the elevator right behind them, one with the silencer of his gun pointing directly at Quinn.

_Fuck!_

BAAM. Carrie’s shot caught the guy right between the eyes. God, that woman -- what a great shot. He really did love her. 

The first guy looked appropriately stunned as he realized the girl in the hospital gown, clearly too weak to stand, had just taken out his partner. Quinn had to imagine that he was equally surprised when the cripple rammed him into the side of the elevator before slamming their two skulls together and smashing the guy’s windpipe with his good hand. All that took less than two seconds, which was the same amount of time it took the second pair of attackers to join the party in the elevator, both of them with guns drawn. _Shit, we’re about to get killed. Sorry, Carrie._

SWWITT. Quinn winced as he heard the silenced shot, but then immediately realized he shouldn’t even have time to be thinking. _How many people were surveilling the fucking elevator?_ Four attackers plus Dar, apparently. Quinn’s mentor appeared from nowhere, shot the fourth attacker in the back of the head, kicked the body of the third attacker all the way into the elevator car, and then calmly stepped inside. He turned and pushed the button for the ground floor as he slid his gun into the shoulder holster under his impeccably tailored jacket. The doors finally closed. Quinn figured that anyone who had heard Carrie’s shot was now arriving at an empty corridor and a bank of six closed elevator doors that provided no indication where the sound had originated. Less than 15 seconds had passed since he and Carrie wheeled into the elevator.

An instrumental version of _Get Lucky_ was the only sound as the three living people and four dead bodies descended before Dar pushed the emergency stop button. The sudden lurch seemed to be the straw that did it for Carrie, and Dar had to jump back to avoid her vomit.

“Fuck. You two are a mess,” he said, making a face to indicate his disgust.

Quinn hadn’t even had a chance to pull out his gun. Now he grabbed the silenced Glock off the body in front of him and pointed it straight at Dar.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Peter, put that down.”

“N-n-no. Last time I needed to leave you alive so that I could f-find Astrid’s killer. He’s dead now.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I told you, McClendon is looking to pin Keane’s assassination on you. I’ve got to get you out of the country before his team gets to you.” 

“Keane’s dead?” Carrie interrupted. “What about Saul?”

Dar barely glanced at Carrie. “Saul’s here in this hospital -- He can look after Carrie. You know you can’t trust her. She’ll never really have your back. It’s like I told you, Peter, you can trust **me.** You know why.” 

“Carrie’s n-not the one I don’t trust.”

“Well, take a look in the mirror Listen to yourself. Carrie had every opportunity to stop this from happening, but she didn’t give a fuck about what you’d want, all she thought about was her own guilt and weakness.” 

Dar shifted his gaze to Carrie then back to Quinn with an exaggerated sigh. “Neither one of you has ever been able to recognize the real threat. You both chase after the wrong enemies. Those fuckers set off a bomb in the middle of downtown Manhattan and then they killed the elected leader of the free world. We’ve lost this round. But the game resets immediately. If we realign and reposition, the loss becomes a win -- I can play both sii… Ahhgg! Fuck!”

Quinn had stopped Dar’s words by shooting him in the arm with the silenced Glock. 

“Astrid is not a fucking game. None of this is.” 

Carrie immediately reached out and put her hand on Quinn’s arm. “If Dar needs to die, I’ll do it. You don’t have to.”

Quinn just looked at her, without moving. Dar was swearing up a storm. “Jesus Fucking Christ, Peter, I am trying to **help** you!”

“Grab the guns,” Carrie said calmly. “We might need them, and we definitely need the silencers.” She reached over and released the elevator, selecting a floor at random. “Shit, I think I’m going to vomit again.”

Dar sank down against the wall so that he was sitting on the floor next to the dead guys. He was clearly furious and possibly bleeding to death.

“You must be a tiger in the sack, Mathison, to have him wrapped around your finger so tightly,” Dar hissed at Carrie, lips pursed with contempt.“ 

Carrie didn’t miss a beat. “Fuck you, Dar.”

Quinn felt his brain get stuck on processing what just happened, but he made a huge effort. “We have to leave some of the g-g-g- weapons,” he explained. They attacked Dar,” Quinn indicated the dead attackers, “he defended himself, a hero. These guys take the fall for Keane.”

“I can’t sell that to McClendon,” protested Dar as the old elevator opened onto an empty corridor. “At least not at first…”

But Quinn was already pushing Carrie’s wheelchair out, rolling around the bodies of their would-be killers. He reached back in to hit the button for the main floor, hoping they were making a smart move.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My attempt at action and humor!


	4. Broken Hearts?

Carrie couldn’t process what had just happened. Her mind felt addled and her nausea kept distracting her even though the situation was life or death. _Typical_. Dar was right, people were trying to kill them, and all Carrie could think of was her heaving stomach, which was clearly not the primary threat. _Where should I focus?_

Quinn was pushing her as though he knew where he was going, but of course, he had no idea. ‘PEDIATRIC OPHTHALMOLOGY’ -- Carrie pointed at the sign indicating a deserted waiting room at the end of a hallway. 

“That clinic probably won’t open for a few hours, or maybe not at all today.” Franny had been required to visit a similar clinic before starting preschool. They rolled into one of the two small restrooms off that waiting area and Quinn locked the door. With any luck they’d be undisturbed for a long while. They were betting that any search would be immediate and that the searchers would soon assume the pair had fled the hospital. After a few hours, things should settle down enough for them to slip away. Hopefully.

Carrie thought it was a great plan, mainly because she wanted to stop moving. She tried to stay focused as Quinn checked her over and frowned at the level of fluid and drugs left in her IV bag. He turned his attention to his own pockets.

“Don’t leave me to try and steal any meds,” she gasped. “I’m fine. I just want to lie down.”

“There’s a vending mmm- thing down the hall. I’m hungry.”

There wasn’t much room, but Quinn made a kind of bed for Carrie on the ground with the blankets and sheets from her hospital room. Once more he cleaned Carrie off and settled her on the blankets before making a supply run for granola bars, chocolate, bottled water, and some Gatorade for Carrie. He turned off the light and arranged himself in the limited space so that her head was on his lap. The effect was weirdly cozy.

“Quinn…”

“No.” His voice was ice.

 _Shit, Dar had really got to him_ — Quinn was furious that she had brought him back from death and then done nothing to make his life worthwhile. She turned her head to avoid looking him in the eye. But Dar’s words had only re-emphasized the despair Quinn had already been feeling. Quinn thought of himself as sub-human, a raging killing machine without a heart. Clearly she **had** failed Quinn, failed to care for him as he needed. Carrie had no idea how to fix it but she was determined to keep trying. _God, I am tired._ She forged ahead.

“If things are going to be different, we need to be different, we need to talk.”

“We don’t.” His voice was hard and final, but his hand still rested in her hair. 

“Quinn. Dar is right, I could have let you go.” She turned her head again and looked directly up at him. “You could have had a peaceful death, and fuck, I almost **gave** it to you. But instead I fought to keep you here and now I just let you suffer every day.”

“Carrie…” He made her name into a warning.

“No, I was selfish, I am. I wanted you alive, I didn’t care about how **you** would feel and what **you** want.”

“What I want is to protect F-Franny, Astrid, and I… f-fucking w-worse than u-useless… my fault… I shouldn’t be al… ”

Carrie stopped his words by reaching up to place her fingers on his mouth. He grabbed her hand and pulled it back down.

“I c-can’t take care of you. I can’t d-do anything for you.” His voice was ragged and desperate.

“Yeah.” She just looked at him.

“Franny…didn’t have to … go through … that. I thought she was in danger.”

“She **was** in danger. You were right. You were the only one who saw it.”

“I made things worse. I thought **you** were against me – and that Astrid was. I can’t fucking t-trust my own… fucking mind.” 

“Yeah.” Carrie reached up and touched his face. “I get that.” She held his gaze a long time. Then she let her hand fall along his side until she grasped his left hand and laced her fingers through his, curling their combined clasp against her cheek and closed her eyes.

He just looked at her.

She wasn’t sure how much time had passed when she woke up. Quinn was still staring down at her.

“Hey,” she rasped. God these drugs were great. She knew there were some serious issues to face, but all she could think was that her head was resting on his jeans, and underneath his jeans… She closed her eyes again and thought about something that could be so hard against her, but so soft to touch at the same time.

He continued to stare at her enigmatically.

“What are you thinking?” she asked.

His voice was quiet and sure. “They call that love. You love me. That’s why…everything.” It was a statement, not a question, but he was also kind of waiting for…something. Maybe a contradiction? He kept looking at her intensely.

 _Wow._ She had to say something. _Fuck_. He deserved an honest response. But she couldn’t ...

“I’m scared,” was the most truthful response she could find.

“Of what?”

“You’ll leave.” Listening to her own words made her cringe with shame, but they were the God’s honest truth. 

“I won’t.”

“You did.” She turned her head away. “You could die, or get arrested, or just change your mind, go away and not come back… I really, I just can’t handle it.” 

“Carrie, I can’t trust m-myself not to hurt you or Franny.”

She turned to look angrily right back at him. “I get that you’re afraid. I just told you, I am, too. But I don’t want to let you go. I… Quinn, what do **you** want?”

He didn’t reply to that, and she went back to her musings about what was in his jeans and fell back to sleep. His eyes were closed when she woke again, but he opened them right away when she stirred.

He moved his jaw and licked his lip.

“What is it?” she asked.

“I n-need you to get better.”

“Why? So you can leave?”

“No, so …. We need to talk. Without you being drugged.” 

“Thought you said you didn’t want to talk.” Carrie had been thinking. She figured she kne exactly what Quinn was avoiding, but he seemed to be preparing to say something specific.

“Carrie,— you said to t-t-tell you. I need to hear it. I need to f-f-feel it. I promise I won’t leave.”

He looked so serious. She stared up at him from her cozy spot on his lap considering his words. He began making faces, shifting tension in his jaw and his lips and darting his eyes around. God, she used to hate those faces, but somewhere along the way that changed, and she kind of loved them, now. Looking at his face, she just wanted to hold him in her arms. Time to stop pretending she didn’t. 

Maybe Dar was right — Carrie was focused on the wrong threat. Quinn was brain damaged. That happened, and she **did** need to control this situation: take responsibility for her role and to help him heal. Finding a way to connect with him was more important, though. The real threat was that she might lose him if she couldn’t **let go** of that control, open up, and be honest about her feelings — to herself and to him. That idea sent panic bubbling up underneath her drug-induced sense of calm. _You know it’s true, just let him in. He needs to hear it._

“When did you get better?” she asked. _Do it._

“I’m not better. I never will be better.”

“Pffft.” _Just say it._

He sighed. “OK, a little better. M-Maybe a little m-more. I’ll try.”

 _Fuck, Mathison, now you’re making him bargain with you._ “Even if you don’t get any better, I still love you, Quinn. I do.”

He just looked at her, clearly thinking about what she just said.

“So?” She asked. Quinn wasn’t the only one who wanted to hear it, and she was just realizing that this second.

“So?”

“Quinn?”

“Oh shit, Carrie. Yeah,” He looked down at her, his deadly serious expression unchanged. “I love you, too.”

And then she smiled at him, and he smiled back, a real smile. God, she loved those dimples and she had not seen them enough, not to mention the way his eyes crinkled in the corners. She thought she should kiss him, or they should make love, but she really, really, didn’t want to move her head at all, so she closed her eyes. Quinn caressed her face along with her hair, and she kissed his hand.

She fell back to sleep. 

****  
When she woke up a while later, Quinn had moved to lean against the door while going through the laborious process of one-handedly checking the silencers and ammunition in each gun. The room was still dark, but of course, Quinn seemed to have no problem checking the guns without seeing them well. She watched him for a few minutes, thinking about what had happened between them and what was still unsaid. He glanced up at her.

“We need to move soon. How you feeling?” His tone was gentle, and she felt her heart catch.

“Better.” _Worse, actually, but more awake._ She wondered what he was thinking. He seemed calm, so maybe now was a good moment to address the Dar landmine.

“Carrie…”

 _Shit._ Was **he** going to take advantage of this moment to push some agenda? That was her plan. “Quinn, why did you shoot Dar?”

“...we need to talk about Franny.”

 _Fuck, no._ “What did he mean about why you can trust him?”

“No. Franny.”

Carrie sighed. _You are so fucking stubborn._ Quinn was the only person who’d always had faith she could be a good mother. Now he would know the truth. 

_Unfit._

“Franny brings us right back to Dar.” She sighed again and looked away. “Dar arranged to have Franny taken from me and put into foster care, as a means of preventing my legal testimony against him. A judge ruled on it.”

Not the full story and Quinn wasn’t an idiot. He knew that child protective services were not so easily manipulated. Her failure was now exposed. Fuck. She screwed up her face to keep in tears.

But, if Quinn was disappointed or angry with her, he didn’t show it. He just seemed anxious. “Motherfucker. OK, OK, D-Dar can get her out. Or, we kidnap her and get new …idennn-n-names.” He shook his head firmly. “Tough way to grow up. Much better to fix this n-now.”

Carrie blinked. _He would have said if he were disgusted with me, right?_ She considered his words. “So, we get out of here, to some safe place, then reach out and try to make sure we’re clear? Then work with the system? We also have to clear your name from the charges the day of the siege.” 

Quinn said nothing, he seemed to be thinking.

Carrie continued, “with Keane gone, I don’t have many contacts. There’s Otto…”

“Saul and D-Dar,” interrupted Quinn. “Has to be. And they’re both in this h-h-here.”

 _Dar, again._ “Quinn, We really do need to talk about some of what Dar said. It’s clearly upset you.”

“No.” Closed-off and angry, just as expected.

“Quinn, Dar said you knew why you should trust him. And then you shot him. What the hell?”

“He pisses me off. That’s all.”

 _Right._ “I meant what I said, you know. ” 

Quinn shook his head. “Dar isn’t evil… just… em-emotionally fucked-up.” Quinn ran his hands through his hair. “Yeah, h-he used me. He’s a fucking a-asshole — I hate him, but he also s-sacrificed… protected m-me… back then… from-m-McClendon…”

“You were young. He used you and I will kill him for it.”

He cut her off. “Young, but n-not innocent, I d-did some… fucked-up things, and D-Dar helped m-make things right… He’s not worth it, Carrie.” Quinn sighed. “But, it is the best… th-thing… what you said.” He ran his fingers through his hair again and sighed. Then he gave Carrie a sly smile. “He’s probably right a-about you being such a fantastic fuck.”

 _Deliberately changing the subject, huh? Brain damaged, my ass._ “You were more innocent than you think, you know. But, OK. For now.” Carrie sighed, but she felt her face smiling involuntarily. “Everyone assumes we’ve been fucking for years.” 

Quinn gave a shrug and raised his eyebrows dramatically. “No one can imagine w-why else either one of us would put up w-with the other. I do think you’re pretty h-hot, you know.”

“Even now, when you have to clean my own vomit off me every five minutes?”

He laughed. _God. He laughed. He just shared the tiniest hint of his fucking secret past with me and then he laughed._ When was the last time she’d seen him laugh?

“…Because watching you check those guns with one hand is surprisingly sexy. I think you could do just about anything with that one hand.”

He looked directly at her and pursed his lips. “I am definitely getting you m-mmore narcotics,” he quipped. “Now, How do we find S-Saul?”

Silence.

Carrie gave up. “My best idea is just to ask,” she said. “If that doesn’t work, we’ll have to try a distraction.”

Quinn gave her an almost-grin. “Ask. That actually might w-work.”

She tried to smile back, but he must not have been fooled. He left his guns and bent over her, brushing the hair away from her face. 

“We’ll get her back, Carrie.”

 _But **should** we? she wondered._ That concern drifted away for another time as she allowed herself to be soothed by his attention. She nodded into his hand and turned her head to brush her lips against his wrist. 

He slid down so that his legs spooned around her’s and his right elbow propped up his head to look down at her face.

“Carrie.” He stared at her intently and stroked her face. “You smell like vomit.” He kissed her ear and settled his head behind hers, nose buried in her hair. “And pyrodex. So, we’re a t-team?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m not going to leave you.”

“Good.”

“We are going to treat each other differently. Better.”

“Yeah.”

“OK.”

 _He needs to hear it._ “I love you.” She whispered the words. 

“I love you, too... Hmmph… we’re both doing b-better already.” They lay together like that for what seemed like a long time, but Carrie knew Quinn was probably timing it to the minute and he had a schedule in mind.

“Put your hat back on. Your I.V. bag is done, so I’m taking out the needle. Then we ma-... move.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, one thing I wanted to do was to explore whether Dar could be made more of a gray character again, after being painted so dark throughout Season 6. I used to love all the shades of gray in _Homeland_.


	5. State of Dependence

“Haven’t we had enough of this _Squawk Box_ shit? You agreed to keep switching between all the channels but you’ve been stopped on CNBC for the past 15 minutes,” complained Dar from his hospital bed. He sighed as he looked out the window onto the parking lot where a light snow was falling. The overly animated voices of the morning news commentators were still speculating loudly about the political implications of the hit on Keane.

Saul calmly frowned at the screen from his bed near the door, but he didn’t manipulate the remote he was holding. “We can watch this one until the next commercial.” 

But Saul turned off the TV altogether the next minute when Quinn rolled Carrie into their room, escorted by the single guard.

“Carrie, thank God,” exclaimed Saul. / “Oh. My. God,” said Dar at the same time.

Quinn noticed Dar’s eyes dart straight to a briefcase on a chair near the wall, as well as the expression on Dar’s face as he realized he’d just telegraphed to Quinn the location of his gun. 

“Hi, Mr. Berenson, I hope it’s all right, but this lady said she was an old friend.” The guard smiled proudly, sure from Saul’s reaction that he had done the right thing by walking the two of them in. Nothing to fear from this helpless looking pair. He didn’t see that behind his back Quinn already had his silenced Glock drawn and aimed directly at Dar. Quinn motioned with his head that they should dismiss the guard, and Saul readily obeyed. 

“Thanks, Fred.” 

Fred turned and exited without ever seeing Quinn’s right hand.

He was barely out the door when Dar stated grousing. “Jesus fucking Christ, Peter, I cannot **believe** you fucking shot me. Are you here to finish the job?”

“We need your help.”

“Excellent,” said Saul. “We need your help. Put that away, Quinn. Sit down, let’s talk. How are you feeling, Carrie?”

“Like shit,” but Carrie did seem to relax and she had an affectionate smile for Saul. “We aren’t going to kill you, Dar. What’s the situation?”

“This room s-swept?” interrupted Quinn. He was decidedly not relaxed although he did lower his gun.

“I’ve checked it myself,” said Dar. “I’m not as disabled as you, but the arm is going to be fine, by the way.”

Quinn made a point of continuing to check the small hospital room.

“Keane is dead, as you know,” Saul started straight away. “We think she was murdered in her hospital bed by the team you took out earlier today. The official story is that Dar killed them in a shootout after realizing what they’d done. We told McClendon that Dar was done waiting for another scapegoat so he took care of the situation himself. McClendon may not like it, but it makes sense, so we think he is buying it.”

“The two of you are up Shit Creek, regardless,” interjected Dar. “McClendon will not rest with you two out there as a loose end.”

Saul continued, “McClendon needs Dar to control Keane’s VP.”

“The new President-Elect likes me.” Dar smiled like a cartoon snake.

“Our plan is for you two to help us discredit McClendon. We can’t trust anyone at the agency right now so we need you to follow up on evidence of his illegal actions overseas. Even if we can’t indict, we can take him out politically so that he won’t be able to influence the incoming president.”

Carry was still staring at Dar Aldal. “You don’t get it. You’re not going to walk away from this one. Dar.”

“Oh, I know perfectly well how this play ends.” The look he gave Carrie reminded her that the Black Ops master could be as cold and intimidating as any killer in the field. “I’ve sent plenty of operatives into no-win situations, and now it’s my turn. I’ve fucked up, and I deserve to pay many times over. Just don't imagine that you are any cleaner, or that I am not as ready to do my duty as any of us. This is much bigger than me, bigger than any one person. We’ve got to consider the political ramifications.”

“No.” Quinn’s response was emphatic. “We’re not fucking with a less-interesting _House of Cards_. You’re going to make some calls and we’re going to get Franny back.”

“Carrie, how are you going to keep her safe?” Saul gave her his best grandfatherly look. “Until McClendon is shut down, he’ll be after you. Franny will be in danger.”

“Peter, you know we’re right.” Dar chimed in. “The child is a huge vulnerability that McClendon will not hesitate to exploit.”

“You sure didn’t hesitate.” 

“I warned you, Mathison, in good faith. I was trying to protect her. If you had backed down, none of this would have happened.”

“I’ve learned my lesson and I’m backing down,” Carrie shot back at him.

“Carrie, Franny’s safe where she is,” Saul interjected. “We need this mission completed in six weeks or so, and then you’ll have Franny back without anything hanging over you. You will be able to live your lives in peace.”

“You assholes. We are done. Done with being f-f-fucked over for this bullshit.” Quinn seemed pretty angry, which was enough to make everyone in the room a little nervous.

Dar and Saul exchanged glances.

“I’ve had Franny moved into the program for children at risk of abduction. McClendon will have a much more difficult time finding her if he ever does learn that she’s in the system. The only way forward is for us to work together bring him down.”

“That will make it more difficult for **us** to f-find her, you mean. And by ‘work together’ you mean that you have t-tea in the Oval Office while Carrie risks her ass knowing you and S-S… “ Quinn pointed at Saul, “will write her off in a h-heartbeat. You both can go and fuck each other.” The last sentence came out smooth and clear.

“Not just Carrie,” Saul looked at them each in turn, “both of you.” 

“How many times can one man give his life for the agency?” asked Carrie. “The answer is ‘no.’ I can get Franny back myself through the courts.”

“Peter, you know that’s a fantasy.”

Quinn frowned, but if he were going to say anything, Dar didn’t give him a chance. “You don’t have to make a decision right away. Just take the burner phone from my bag. I’ll text you an extraction point. We will connect the two of you with a team and ship you all overseas where you can get what we need on McClendon.”

Quinn started making faces again as he grabbed Dar’s bag and tossed it to Carrie. “Take the phone and the gun,” he said.

“You already have the weapons from this morning,” objected Dar, “How big an arsenal do you really need?”

Quinn simply glared at Dar while Carrie went through the bag.

Undissuaded by the lack of response, Dar continued, speaking slowly. “It’s not just Franny I’m worried about, you know. Peter, that gunshot wound needs some serious care. It would be a shame if you learned to cope with the effects of the stroke only to be disabled by lifelong pain from an untreated shoulder wound. Of course, if you agreed to help us, that wouldn’t be an issue. We could arrange treatment for all medical concerns for both of you. It isn’t infected, **yet,** is it?”

Carrie’s hands were visibly shaking as she tossed the bag back on the counter and stashed the gun and the phone under her blankets.

“Fuck you both to hell,” were Quinn’s final words as he wheeled Carrie away.

 

****

It had been the same story for more than 20 years. Dar whistled a tune and Quinn lost all control over his own life for better or worse.

They rolled back onto an elevator. “Carrie, I’m fine. It’s n-nothing. Dar’s just… keeping you un-unbalanced.”

“Let me see that wound.” Her voice was once more calm and in control. _What is it about elevators that makes her so calm?_

He didn’t move. “I’m fine,” he growled with all the hardness he could muster. 

She didn’t seem to notice. “I’m serious, Quinn, where is it?” She reached over and pulled the switch to stop the elevator. 

He sighed and knelt down in front of her. “Carrie, it’s healing. We should g-go.”

“Shit, Quinn.” She grabbed either side of his neck and started shaking him, which hurt his injured shoulder but mostly resulted in her shaking herself. “We are not fucking doing this again. There is no way in hell we are leaving this hospital without getting you treated, even if I have to fucking nail your godforsaken sorry ass to the fucking examination table.”

_So much for the elevator theory._

“Carrie…” His words died as she began to sob and gag up Gatorade at the same time. “Fine. OK. Hey, you win. Hey, hey.” He stroked her back to help her calm down. “What’s the p-play?”

Still hiccuping, she produced three driver’s licenses from under the blankets on her lap and held them up for him to see: three different names with Dar’s photo. The pictures were all of a much younger Dar, clean shaven with plenty of hair. _What else did you take from that bag?_ Quinn’s hair, stubble, and bruised face could pass. Probably. 

“D-Dar’ll be pissed, but he won’t fuck us over, least not… r-right away.” He kept stroking Carrie’s back. “How’d I get shot? Accident?”

Carrie was still breathing in shaky gasps, but she was focused. “Maybe something close to the truth?” She paused to breathe. “You are a wounded vet, former Delta Force and you stumbled on the Keane plot involving some of your old colleagues.” Another pause, although her breathing seemed to have evened out.

“OK, so they realized I.. they sh-shot me, killed A-A-Astrid, and injured y-“ he guestured to Carrie. “Then I’m so PTSD p-paranoid that I tried to hide” he indicated his shoulder. “D-didn’t want to leave your s-side.”

“Yeah, I should be able to convince them that we’ve already filed the appropriate report and been debriefed by secret service, even though I didn’t realize you were shot.”

“There’ll be a protocol that r-requires paper… on a gunshot, no matter what.”

“That might take time. Enough for us to get a scan and an injection of antibiotics.”

He just looked at her for several seconds and nodded. He was having trouble thinking straight, so he’d have to have faith in her. “Good enough. I can find the hospital entr.. E- ER.” He sighed. “You know could be hours j-just to c-confirm I’m OK?”

“I know I’m never watching you get septic again.”

“How long do we s-stay?”

“Until we get the right antibiotics and a prognosis I can live with.”

“Or until my actual paranoia k-kicks in?”

Her serious expression cracked and she smiled at him. “Yeah, we can discuss it. I trust your instincts.”

“You sh-shouldn’t. But discussing stuff is g-good.” He smiled back at her, a small quick smile, but still. He flipped the switch to send the elevator down to the first floor and licked his lips as he considered all the things that were likely to go wrong in the next hour. No choice, though, in the face of Carrie’s determination. Clearly, the trauma she experienced when he was shot in Berlin was something else he’d failed to notice. Trust Dar to hone in and exploit it. _Fucker._ Quinn resolved to pay more attention to her emotional state, including the possibility that she had been regularly over-medicated recently. He had been too passive for too long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to @Pinkys143 for "less interesting house of cards" as well as for her friendship and encouragement. Thanks AsCloseAsThis and Laure001 for editing advice.


	6. A Choice

“Motherfucker.”

She was out of patience with his whining. “That’s why you should have let them give you the morphine shot, you idiot.”

“Can you be fucking quiet for one minute?”

“Don’t you get tired of being so god-damned tough all the time?”

“Fuck, yeah, I do. My shoulder fucking hurts, Carrie.”

“Quinn, no one knows we’re here. No one is looking for us. There is no need to play like you’re Dirty-Fucking-Harry, too tough to need morphine while you get your fucking gunshot wound treated. Honestly, I …”

“Carrie, be c-quiet.”

“I will not, I…”

“No, I mean it, listen!”

From outside the curtained enclosure that was Quinn’s treatment space in the emergency department, a man’s voice seemed to be addressing several people.

“…individuals associated with the attack may have come through this department in the last forty-eight hours…”

“Shit! They know we’re here, they’re looking for us.” Carrie felt the panic rise in her chest, and then she panicked more as she considered how the fear might set off her vertigo again. _Fuck._

“Shh. That’s McClendon himself. You need to loo-l-l… see who…” but Carrie had already angled herself to peak discretely through the gap in the curtain.

“They’re walking away. Dammit, Quinn, it looks as though he’s doing a search of all the beds! He’s on his own, starting in the other direction, but he’ll come around to check here any minute. There’s nowhere to hide. We can’t run.” OK, **now** she was panicked.

“G-g-g-et on t-t-t ...me.”

“What?” 

Quinn sat up in his bed, reached out with his right arm and pulled Carrie to him. “On...t-t-top.”

“Wait!” Carrie whispered urgently as grabbed tape and bandages from the rolling cart full of supplies and then pulled a gun from their bag. Quinn already had a gun still in the waistband of his jeans. She erased the “GSW” from the whiteboard on the wall and then held her breath as she rolled herself onto Quinn’s treatment bed and on top of him. Hot pain from her incision radiated out across Carrie’s body. Fuck, fuck, FUCK! Quinn was lying on his back and she arranged herself front down on top of him as she hurriedly pulled the pillow to lay along his torso so that it further disguised their forms. The two of them together pulled blankets over them both and the pillow. She gritted her teeth and propped herself up with her elbows. Thank God she’d grabbed some giant band-aids. She ripped them open and smashed them onto Quinn’s face, covering his left eye and the bridge of his nose. Nearly sobbing with fear and pain, she pulled the sterile bonnet from her own hair and yanked it down over Quinn’s before burying her face into his left armpit. _Fuck, don’t vomit again!_ He pulled the blankets over her head up to his chin. 

And they waited. 

There were probably 30 treatment spaces enclosed by privacy curtains along the four walls of the large ER, ringing a central station of computers behind counters. McClendon must be examining each patient pretty thoroughly. _Fuck._

At least she had time to calm down her breathing and her pain began to dull. She felt Quinn’s body underneath her and it seemed like their heartbeats were pounding in time. The thin fabric of their hospital gowns separated their chests, and Carrie’s face was pressed into the naked skin of Quinn’s biceps. He grabbed her left hand with his right and stroked her fingers with her thumb. She moved her lips against the inside of his upper arm. Their breathing began to synchronize. And they waited.

SHHEKKKK. SHHAAKK. They heard the curtain open and close as someone entered the space. Booted footsteps approached them and paused. Carrie was sure her heart was beating loud enough to give them away. The sudden ring of a cell phone so loud and close almost made her gasp. DOO doo dooo doo DOO doo dooo do DOOOO. There was a heavy masculine sigh before the footsteps walked away, followed by the sounds of another curtain sliding back, and the voice again, clearly on the phone. 

“McClendon… Yeah… Sutter will arrive there in the morning… … No… Mmm… …Yeah, but what did he say about the vote in the Senate?… … Yeah…“ the voice trailed off as though listening.

Carrie and Quinn remained frozen in their hiding place under the sheet as McClendon murmured his phone conversation. Carrie felt Quinn’s hand slowly move towards his gun in the waistband of his jeans and she assumed he’d peeked and observed McClendon looking the other way. She carefully pulled back the edge of the sheet as she felt Quinn’s head turn as well. They could both see clearly into the next treatment space, where a uniformed man with his back to them talked on his phone and sat down on a folding chair facing an empty bed. McClendon. 

He was the mastermind behind Sekou’s murder, Keane’s murder, Astrid’s murder. There he sat, vulnerable and unsuspecting. From her resting place on top of Quinn’s chest, Carrie turned her head so that they could look directly into each other’s eyes. They both had their guns ready now.

Quinn gave his head a tiny shake. No. Carrie thought of Astrid and Belli. She made a worried and questioning face. _Are you sure?_ She looked back at McClendon, talking away on his phone. She could feel that Quinn remained alert but waiting. 

Carrie thought of Keane, elected to be the first women president and murdered by this man who thought he had the right to impose his own will on the American people. She thought of all the women murdered by men who thought they had the right. Fuck.

She gave a faint sigh and nodded to Quinn in agreement. 

Still talking on the phone, McClendon stood up and walked out.


	7. Two Heads

Four hours later Quinn shut the door to their hotel room and felt his body begin the slow process of retreating from the hyper-focused intensity he associated with being on active mission. He pushed Carrie’s wheelchair past the door of the ensuite bathroom and into the main room with its two full beds. She made a faint moaning sound as she lurched from the chair to the nearest bed and lay there unmoving. He collapsed the chair, then sat his own tired body down on the edge of the bed opposite and leaned towards her with his right arm on his knee.

He didn’t want to relax just yet. Carrie needed care. She was twenty-four hours post-abdominal surgery, twelve hours post any medication, and she’d had way too much activity. God only knew when her last lithium dose was, or how that might be affecting her. He had stopped by a pharmacy, though, and gotten pain-killers and motion sickness medication as well as a couple of new phones, one of which he’d used to call Clarence who would have some lithium, antibiotics, and stronger pain medicine by tomorrow. Quinn picked up the hotel phone and ordered room service. 

His own wound was a dull ache, but that was no different from the past … seventy-two hours? Was it only three days since Astrid had died? His scans in the ER had shown what he had already determined based on experience. The bullet had exited cleanly, leaving only damaged tissue. He was healing well and a shot of antibiotics would ensure no late-onset infection. 

“Quinn. I love you.” 

He smiled in spite of himself. She had meant it when she said she would do better if he told her what he needed. He suspected she had put an alarm on her phone to vibrate every hour, reminding her to say it. He knew it still wasn’t easy for her, but hearing it six times today really seemed to have helped him to stay out of the pit. This just might work.

“You’re going to have that soup and juice, and I have drugs for you, too, but f-first I want to talk.”

Carrie made as though to sit up, but he motioned her to stay curled as she was.

Quinn worked his jaw. _Fuck._ He’d been thinking about this but saying it was harder than he’d anticipated. 

“We should get married.”

“What? Why?” _Fuck._ She looked shocked. 

“So you won’t be afraid I’ll leave. So that I will believe you … l-love me. So that we can talk like n-nnormal people.”

“Normal people have conversations first, then get married.”

“That’s insane. We need a … c-ccommitment so that we can really be honest.”

Carrie laughed. 

_OK, well, offer her marriage, and she laughs in your face._ She must love him the way she would love a dear old pet dog, which was more than he deserved, but...

“Oh, God, Quinn. Of course. Let’s do it.” She smiled. “Come here and kiss me.”

And suddenly he couldn’t believe it. His mind started doing that thing and he couldn’t…

“Quinn, if you don’t fucking come kiss me I’m going to come over there myself and start vomiting Gatorade all over you.” 

He wouldn’t dream her saying that, would he?

He launched himself onto her bed, lay on his left side and gently draped his right arm around her neck. _Say something nice, Peter._

“I love you, Carrie. No m-more resets.”

But as he looked into her eyes, she screwed them shut and her face began to tremble. _Fuck._ “What…?”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” She broke off into a sob and hid her hands in her face. He felt completely shut out. “I’m just… It’s Franny.”

 _Shit._ “She’s afraid of me n-now.”

“No, no. At least I don’t think so. She wasn’t. I know she wasn’t. But, I don’t know what they’ve been telling her. I wish she was here. We’re a family now, she should be here.” Carrie’s voice was strained.

“I y-yelled at her… to stay in that bathroom.” _A family?_

“Welcome to parenthood. She was safest in the bathroom.”

 _Parenthood?_ Quinn felt himself losing hold on reality again. He focused on the feel of her neck under his palm, her hair falling against the sensitive skin on the inside of his arm.

“She’ll be happy, really happy — that’s why she should be here. She is completely fascinated by you.” Carrie was sobbing, now. She rolled against Quinn and scrubbed her face with her hands. “I **miss** her. I **hate** that they took her. They could be telling her anything. What does that **do** to a child? Fucking ‘unfit mother.’”

“Franny is tough. And smart.” _Just like her mother._ “And, Carrie, you are a good m-mother. I see that. We can help her to cope.” 

“I’m sorry I’m crying. I’m really happy.” 

_Bipolar disorder. You can handle this._ He leaned over her and kissed her gently, but she reached up and pulled his head down roughly, parting her lips and opening her mouth to him so that his entire body responded and he rolled on top of her, his right hand… 

“Oww!” Carrie gave a cry of pain while at the same time Quinn hissed in reaction to the stabs shooting from his own shoulder wound. 

“Shit!” / “Fuck!”

“S-sorry.” Quinn felt ashamed for letting his dick take over until he realized Carrie’s mood had shifted again, and she was giggling. 

“When we get through with all this shit, you are giving me a ring and we are going to have amazing sex. Oh God, I’m going to be sick again. Where is that Dramamine? I don’t care if it makes me buzzed, I need to kill this fucking nausea.”

“You want a r-ring?” _Fuck me._ How had that not occurred to him? She seemed happy, though. He went to get her the medicine. _Focus on the ‘amazing sex’ part._

She laughed some more. “God, you are such a… you are just like me, really. Jesus, you know who will really be happy about us getting married? Maggie. Saul will be pissed, though.” 

_Maggie likes me?_ Quinn briefly considered that he had not thought through the implications of marriage on Carrie’s other relationships. _Would I be kind of like Maggie’s brother? That would be… new. Saul can go fuck himself._

Carrie’s smile was so bright he couldn’t help but smile back as he handed her the seasickness pills. _Huh. I did that. I made her smile. Yeah, this might work._

“Gentle,” he said, as he settled next to her and tried again, a soft kiss, stroking her hair and moving his hand slowly down her back and up again, under her shirt and all around. She gave a small audible sigh as the kiss ended, and then she brought her hand to his face, caressing his cheek, his neck, and coming to rest on his chest. They kissed again and then again, and he moaned when he felt her hands moving over his body, his skin. He decided he really didn’t care how much of this was real, how much was a dream, or how crazy Carrie was getting without her lithium. They enjoyed each other and the moment until a knock on the door announced the food.

****

“You’re eating that soup,” he told her.

“Fucking bossy. I might just throw up all over you again.”

Quinn attacked his hamburger, which he’d seemed to have chosen as the most efficient way to consume protein with one hand. “Don’t care. No more I.V.. You’re eating.”

In fact, the food smelled great. The bellman had arranged Carrie’s soup and Quinn’s hamburger elegantly on a white cloth covering the room’s small table, which was pulled close to the bed, but Carrie wasn’t sure she could even sit upright. She felt a weird combination of terrible and elated, and her mind started turning, turning fast. _Where the fuck do we go from here? Can we even get Franny back without Dar? But, we had our chance with McClendon, so how do we go to work for Dar and Saul after that?_

“Quinn… did we do the right thing?”

Quinn didn’t answer for a few minutes. “Mmhh. I can’t believe I let h-him go. Sometimes the shots you don’t take are the ones that h-h-haunt you.” 

Carrie hadn’t thought she’d be able to eat, but the Dramamine seemed to be working — she was suddenly starving. “If you had killed Brody, maybe they wouldn’t have bombed Walden’s memorial. Or, if you’d let me kill Saul, the embassy might not have been attacked.” She slowly sat up and eyed the chicken noodle suspiciously.

“We can’t know.”

“Both those are times you put me first, before the mission.” Carrie cautiously took a spoonful of soup. “Mmmm.”

“Yeah. You’ve done it too. Didn’t let me g-get Haqqani.” 

“I couldn’t risk losing you.”

Quinn paused in his hamburger-devouring efforts to look at Carrie sideways.  
“But y-you could in Berlin?”

“I… “

“No. Fuckit, I’m s-sorry Carrie, all those lives. You had to.”

Carrie put down her spoon. “That doesn’t make it OK. I did this to you, Quinn, I did. And we both will have to live with that every day, even though I was trying to do the right thing. That’s why I’m afraid to work for Saul and Dar, Quinn. All the crazy things that we do as part of the job, the life we live… ”

“But it’s different, n-now?”

She was silent, thinking about what he meant. Her mind felt like a giant computer, processing the implications of Quinn’s words.

“Isn’t it?” He pushed her. _Well, he has to, doesn’t he?_

“Yes” she confirmed. “We can’t take crazy risks with ourselves or each other. We can’t do horrible things. Not if we want to stay together. It’s too hurtful.” _And Franny. The most important reason and neither of us can say her name in this discussion._

“Yeah,” said Quinn. “That’s why we didn’t… No more k-killing in the shadows, no more h-honey traps, no more blackmailing, no m-more … lying like crazy and ruining civilian lives.”

“Do you think we can do it?”

Quinn looked at her. “You know I’ve tried before and f-failed.” He started in on his french fries.

“Yeah, well, you ended up planning an off-book, unsanctioned murder-suicide. So, that was a fail all right.” She raised her eyebrows at him as she brought her spoon to her mouth.

“Pfff.” He scoffed at her characterization. “But I was on my own. In the end, you stopped m-me.”

“So maybe together... OK, yeah... It was the same for me in Berlin. I was trying so **fucking** hard to be the person that **you** and my **dad** thought I could be, doing good work and giving Franny a stable home. Then **BAM,** my past came back to get me. Might have been different if we had been together. I probably wouldn’t have made **half** the mistakes I did...” Carrie felt herself getting carried away, and she was grateful when Quinn interrupted.

“Yeah, we’ll make different m-mistakes together. A much better class of m-mistake.” He raised his eyebrows and gave her a half smile, then he wrinkled his nose. “Carrie, I can’t see how we can get her back safely without the agency.” 

“And that means Saul and Dar, even though we already gave up our chance to take out McClendon?”

“I was thinking what w-we really need to do is to set conditions.”

“Blackmail them?” She raised her eyebrows ironically.

“We do have shit on Dar and Saul, if worse came to worse. But mostly… they can’t trust anyone else. We c-can make demands.”

“Like what?”

“They wanted my help, s-s-speci-f-fically. Sounds like a hit.”

“So, a ‘no’ to that is our first demand. But not necessarily, Quinn. They also know that you were the one who photographed the bomber the night **before** the bombing. And, you traced Astrid’s murderer, which almost prevented the hit on Keane. If I had taken you seriously…” 

“No. They s-set it up, you had to help… that boy’s f-family. Then my paranoia, and F-Franny… We never had a … .”

“My point is Dar and Saul know you are more than just a killer, even if you don’t.”

Quinn was silent for a few minutes. “We need a letter from the judge app-appointing Maggie as … temporary guardian. Before… anything.” 

“Would a judge allow her to leave the country with Franny? Mmmm...” She snapped her finger and grinned at him. “Bill’s academic career, would that reassure the judge!”

Quinn smiled at her and nodded appreciatively — with his mouth full, but still, she could tell it was a real smile by his eyes. He almost seemed to be amused by her, really, but that smile made her so happy.

“Still,” she was suddenly struck by another thought. “Dar will think it’s a play for us to kidnap her.”

“N-nothing with CPS* moves … fast.”

“Can Dar stretch it out so that the process takes at least 6-weeks? God, that seems crazy, that they could keep her from me for that long. So, Dar starts the process in motion before we begin work, and the reality goes through when we give him what he needs.”

“That’s why he’ll go for it.”

“Six weeks! I can’t imagine her being in foster care for that long. But, we would be in a much better position than we are now. Even if the worst happens, Franny goes to Maggie -- I would feel so much better.” She scraped up the last bit of soup. “OK then, I also want some assurances for you.”

“Yeah, that’s trickier.”

“I was thinking a full immunity deal, but maybe it would be easier…” She trailed off.

“A new iden-name?” He’d reached the same conclusion.

“You’ve done it before, right? How hard would it be for you, personally?”

“I’ve liked… Peter Quinn, but … g-gassed on film, siege, jail, B-B-Bellevue…“ Quinn was silent for a few minutes, thinking. “Dar already… “ He pointed to his bag. “I have d-docs for… ‘David Exley,’ prescriptions, and a bank acc…acc… $100K.”

“Fuck!”

“Yeah. S’not like I’d have to walk away from everything. No one’s looking for me. No one cares.”

“Wow. Da-vid Ex-ley.” As she tried out the name, it sounded totally weird and uncomfortably similar to David Estes. _Whatever._ “OK, let’s see what more we can get. You might be more optimistic about the future with a resume full of desk work at the agency. So, we text Dar?” 

Quinn stood up to get Dar’s phone. “And regular vet benefits for 20 fucking years of fucked-up service. Sucks giving Dar the satisfaction, though.” Quinn joined her on the edge of the bed. She was surprised to see how much skill he had texting on a burner flip phone with just his right hand. She’d never realized he was much of a texter. But, of course, he was good at everything he did with his hands. That thought, naturally, sent her mind wandering. 

They settled everything with a minimum of fuss. Who knew whether Dar and Saul would be in a position to make good on their promises, but they’d done the best they could. A foreign government, possibly Iran, maybe North Korea or Russia, seemed to have financed Onyx and be working with McClendon. The final objective was unclear, but Onyx seemed poised to use fake news and social media to manipulate elections, public opinion, and governmental policies worldwide. Carrie and Quinn would follow up Dar’s leads to identify who was involved and why. Once they knew who could be trusted in the intelligence community, they were out. Someone else could continue the endless escalation. 

Quinn looked up at her. “Go-time is in 53 hours, assuming we get the letter from the judge. We’ll s-stay right here until then, although I’m going to make one run to get m-meds and some clothes tomorrow.”

“Fifty hours lying in bed sounds about perfect. We never saw the end of that movie we started watching at the VA right before you left there.

“Yeah, I hated that — _Love Actually._ ”

“I thought it was great! You fucker. How about starting with Casino Royale we watch all the Daniel Craig Bond movies? You can tell me all the reasons you’re a better operative than 007.”

“Well, first of all, my girl is m-much sexier.”

“You’ve used that line before.”

“It’s n-never been truer. I’m going to s-shower.” He went into the bathroom, leaving her to her thoughts.

She was under no illusions. If she had not been injured, Quinn would have left her. His dark state of mind could still return any time, and she chewed her lip as she considered how to prevent that. He had said he needed to **feel** it. What kind of fool wouldn’t have understood that earlier? _You need that, too._ She knew her mind was racing and she determined to slow down. She stared at herself in the mirror hanging above the dresser. _You can do this. Let him set the pace and follow along._ Getting up off the bed really wasn’t as painful as she had feared. 

*Child Protective Services


	8. A New Normal

Quinn ran the hot water in the tub rather than risk a flashback in the glass shower. The predictable modern decor of the bright hotel bathroom did nothing to reassure him. He impatiently climbed into a few inches of water while the running tap continued to produce a racket from the center of the long end of the tub.

“Can I help you?”

He looked up from soaping himself off. Carrie was shuffling into the bathroom. He gave a huff of laughter and shut off the tap. “How’re you going to help? You can hardly w-walk.”

She sat down on the tiled counter that served as the back edge of the tub, resting her head against the wall.

“By ‘help’ I really mean ‘watch.’” 

“Aw, Carrie,” he spoke quietly, “you’ve missed the show.”

“Doesn’t seem that way to me.”

He took a deep breath and watched her face as she looked at his body. She did look happy. That was… nice. It was good to feel wanted, appreciated, so he made an effort to push away his feelings of shame. Focusing on her content expression helped quiet the negative voices in his mind. He finished his bathing, pulled the drain, and then stood up to dry himself off, all the while keeping her in his line of sight. Yeah, she was pleased. Well, he could do more than show off his fucked-up body to her. “Your turn, Carrie.” 

“I can’t get my surgical scar wet,” she objected.

“I’m going w-wash you with … “ He grabbed a washcloth and turned on the hot tap to get it wet.

He sat down on his towel next to her, still naked, his feet in the emptying tub. She uncurled and mirrored his posture, expectant.

Getting her undressed was easy, all she had on was a hospital gown and his sweater. He’d have to get new clothes for both of them, he thought, before deliberately dismissing such practical concerns as he allowed his mind to focus on her body, sitting beside him. He noticed her cesarean scar, her dark pubic hair, and her light-colored nipples. Her breasts were slightly bigger than he’d thought, though still small enough to be pert and round after 37 years and a baby. Those details helped him to believe this was really happening, not just another dream. 

“Relax.” It was an order to himself as well as to her. He reached down and then slowly bent each of her knees and pulled off the fuzzy green hospital slipper-socks with the rubberized soles. He bent forward to scrub each foot with the warm soapy washcloth, carefully fingering her toes and cleaning in between each until the residue of green fuzz gone. Then he worked on her legs, using the rough soap-infused towel to firmly massage her muscles with long strokes reaching up towards the tops of her thighs. Next, he soaked a hand towel in clean hot water and washed all the soap away. Quinn thought he was perfectly calm as he contemplated where to wash her next, but then he realized how loud and ragged he was breathing. 

Time for hands and arms. Quinn and Carrie worked together now, turned towards one another as they perched on the edge of the tub. They each used one hand to lather up each of her arms and hands until they were slick, and she caressed his arm as well, even pulling his wrist up towards her mouth for a kiss. That encouraged him to move his soapy hand to cup her left breast. She gave a loud happy sigh and collapsed towards him so that his arm slid around to her back and her head rested lightly against the sensitive skin on the side of his neck. He moved his hand forward again to slide his fingers and thumb feather-soft around and over each of her breasts. 

“Mmmm. That feels nice.”

God, just the sound of her voice stimulated him more. “Feels nice to me, too.” It was also nice to be able to talk easily, and that seemed to be a side effect of this activity. They both seemed so calm and clear. Maybe they’d be like this often. Maybe they **could** heal each other, at least a little. Quinn was shocked to feel tears stinging his eyes. The frequency of tears was another legacy from Berlin, but he’d mostly known tears of frustration, anger, and sadness. This was the first time in his life he could ever remember feeling tears of… not joy, exactly, but some kind of happiness and… relief? Hope? If he had thought about it before, he would have said the expression “tears of joy” was a metaphor, not a literal human reaction to positive emotion. But at 40-years-old he was realizing he’d just never experienced any emotion worthy of happy tears ever before, not even when John was born — Quinn had already known he would leave. Now, Carrie had given this gift to him as well. He moved his hand around her back again and brought her close to him, breathing heavily as he held her, hiding his tears in her hair.

After a few minutes, he pulled back so that he could look into her eyes. Her brow furrowed, as though she were worried by his intensity. He kissed her nose to show her he was OK. 

“Stand up, now.” They helped each other to stand and he rinsed her off, carefully working his soaking towel under her arms and between her legs. Her white skin had burst into goose pimples that magically disappeared under his touch. He lingered on her back and her curving backside, finally dropping the cloth and caressing her skin with only his wet hand. Her sighs and small moans were beginning to affect him but he wasn’t getting sidetracked. “Sit down in the tub. I’ll wash your hair, then you sleep.” They settled inside the tub so that she was sitting between his legs as he sat behind her. 

“You’re taking such good care of me.”

“Don’t sound so amazed. I learned from the best.” He was using the hand-held spray to wet her hair, taking care not to let water drip on her surgical dressing.

She laughed at that. “If you mean me, I know you’re bullshitting. I’ve been the worst caregiver. But tried, Quinn. I really did.”

“Shh.” He kissed her ear as he lathered her hair with shampoo. “I loved it when you used to bathe me in the hospital in Germany.”

“You remember that?”

“Yes.” Now he was massaging her scalp gently. He felt her breathe deeply and shiver.

“I don’t know what you remember, or how your mind is working.” 

“I don’t always know myself.” He was rinsing her hair now, sliding his long fingers through the water-soaked strands, luxuriating in their silky feel. “How is your mind? I can get your lithium tomorrow. I’d like to know how you’re … r-reacting.” He knew she had been becoming more volatile and excited, but she seemed much better here in the tub. Maybe the physical contact was calming her?

“Oh, really?” She chuckled. “You’d like it if **I** let **you** know what’s going on with my brain?”

He smiled as he finished rinsing her off. “Fair point.” 

“Seriously, Quinn. What are you experiencing in there? One minute you’re asking me about moving wallpaper and the next you’ve uncovered the mechanics behind the New York bombing.”

Quinn was silent as he stood and helped her to stand facing him. He pulled a dry towel off the rack and began roughly rubbing her body with it, her shoulders, her breasts, her arms, her back and her ass, then each leg, all the way up and in between. She helped him and hummed appreciatively before returning the favor, even though he wasn’t really that wet. God, it felt good: the coarse towel, her gentle and firm strokes. He breathed deeply and felt his muscles relax as she ministered to him. His cock surged up every now and then and she caressed that part of him but didn’t comment. She was clearly waiting for his response to her question.

“Like you always say, recovery… not a straight… Sometimes I can’t tell what is real and what is in my… “ He pointed again at his head, “dream.” He wrapped her up in the towel and pulled her into a tight embrace with one hand. “And, I am completely fucking paranoid,” he admitted slowly.

“Yeah, well. Someone **was** watching us and trying to kill you. Maybe your sharp instincts just led you to lose perspective.” She snuggled her head more deeply into his chest. “A shrink once told me that I lose perspective. I let my good instincts get out of control and I become so focused on my objective that I overlook what really matters — particularly people. That’s what you mean when you say I put the mission first.” 

He pulled her back to look her in the eye. “Yeah.” They helped each other step out of the tub and he handed her one of the hotel robes hanging on the back of the door.

“I **want** to, I’ve **tried** to prioritize you and Franny.” She fished the toothbrush out of the bag Quinn had brought from the pharmacy. “Dar is right when he says I focus on the wrong enemies. It’s hard.” She started brushing her teeth with ferocity. She watched him in the mirror as he pulled on his own robe.

He waited until she stopped for a moment to spit out the foam so that she would hear him clearly. “It’s harder on your own, Carrie.”

She kept looking at him in the mirror. “You said you have no heart. You know, don’t you, that **you** were the one who kept me from killing Saul, when I **totally** lost perspective, back in Islamabad? And do you even **remember** the conversations we had about Franny when I first was pregnant?”

 _I remember._ He met her reflected gaze. “You’re not on your own anymore.” _Yeah, maybe I can help you find perspective. Maybe._ “The VA shrink s-said to find just one thing that I knew was true,” he said slowly, “and hold onto that thing to fight my c-confusion.”

“So what’s the one thing?” Carrie handed Quinn the toothbrush with the paste already on it.

“At first, nothing.” Carrie combed out her hair as she watched him brush his teeth. “I couldn’t find one thing to hold onto at … that place.”

“And then?” 

Quinn let the question linger as they moved from the bright bathroom into the pitch black bedroom. Crawling under the covers with her was more awkward than it should have been because he was completely distracted by his own dream-like and circling thoughts. He still needed to understand. She curled around him while he stared at the ceiling. 

He was remembering the siege at Carrie’s brownstone, and how the darkness had spiraled after he concluded that Carrie had taken him down from behind. Then, everything horrible at the lake house — all that had resulted from his distrust of Astrid. 

He’d had a lifetime of loving people who didn’t love him in return, not really, not enough. He should have known that wasn’t Astrid. He needed to remember that wasn’t Carrie, even though she was a mess. Hell, she was a fucking disaster half the time, and he knew she would continue to make mistake--mistakes that would hurt him, but she had been there for him, again and again. She hadn’t wanted to let him go, even though she understood how depraved and useless he really was. She still fought for him, listened to him, wanted him. That was love.

“Then I chose Franny,” he said quietly.

“Franny?” Carrie seemed like she had been thinking about something else entirely.

He continued speaking very slowly. “My one true thing was that I would keep Franny safe. Didn’t work out.” He turned to his right side to look at her, propping his head on his elbow. “I thought protecting her would give m-me… you know… … purpose. Instead, using that as my lens, my one true thing, just… fed my para-paranoia.”

“It was **not** your fault, Quinn.” She looked up at him.

“N-not true. But thanks. Thank you for believing… that.” His serious expression did not change. “Now I have a new thing.” 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He reached over and brushed her lips with his fingers. His words were slow but sure: “You and I are in love. We both love each other.” He continued staring down at her seriously. “That’s my one true thing I can use to figure everything else out when I’m confused, m-maybe help my paranoia. It might work. I think so.” Suddenly he felt unsure, overwhelmed by the near-impossible task of healing and building a life together.

But then she smiled at him. “We do love each other. That’s true.” _Fuck, she gets to me every time._ “So… you going to do something about it?” Her challenge was suddenly playful.

He finally smiled, for real, but neither of them moved. They were both exhausted; they had other priorities. She was in no shape for sex, that was for sure. Still, he appreciated her effort. The words were a reminder and a promise.

“You’re a fucking t-tease.”

She laughed. _God, this is so nice, making her laugh._ When had they been relaxed and laughing together?

“Quinn,” she whispered seductively, moving so close that her lips brushed his ear. “I need to feel you inside me, and I really don’t care how much my incision or your gunshot wound hurts.” She pulled a condom from her robe pocket and began unwrapping it. He’d gotten a package from the pharmacy and she’d clearly found them when getting the toothbrush. _Well._

“Maybe I care.” Quinn began nuzzling her neck. “M-maybe I want our f-first time to be… not painful?” But Quinn was teasing her now, all too aware that her words ‘I need you inside me,’ had had an instant effect on his body. He rolled over her so that he was on her right side, able to slide his good hand under her robe, down to her knee and then slowly and lightly dragged his fingers and nails up her thigh, around her hip, and carefully around her wound dressing. Her breath caught, as his fingers and thumb finally trailed around her breast in soft circles, gently brushing her nipple. 

“I’ve been waiting, Quinn.” _She’s still talking?_ “We’ve both been waiting,” she stopped to gasp a breath, “for us both to be ready for too … ” Quinn stopped her mouth with a kiss that continued as he nodded his face into hers, kissing her cheeks, her closed eye, and then nibbling her ear. Her words became a soft cry as he moved his hand to her other breast. “Fuck, Quinn. What are you doing to me?” 

That gave him a thrill. _Still got it._ For an answer he moved his hand down between her legs, his long fingers brushing against the insides of both thighs while his thumb rubbed firmly against her pubic bone before sliding downward. She moaned desperately, so it seemed she was finally done talking. But now her hands were playing their own games with his body, light fluttering strokes around his neck and chest, which felt fucking amazing, and firmer pressure sliding along his torso, which felt… _Fuck. This will not end well if you don’t focus on avoiding collateral damage._ He pulled a folded pillow under her ass to raise her pelvis, then moved to straddle her with most of his weight on his right knee.

But Carrie had other ideas, she was trying to roll their bodies so that they were facing each other side-to-side. _Really, Carrie? We’re fighting to see who is in control, **now**?_ He felt his face grin with amusement as he switched to follow her lead. 

“What are you laughing at?” she asked as she pulled his hand behind her to palm her ass. Yeah, she didn’t miss a trick. His fingers explored her curves and then in between to some of her folds before returning to take a firm grip and gently squeezing. She was ready, and the feel of her wetness was too much for him.

“You. Us. Just lie back and relax, Carrie. I‘ll be care-care… Tell me if it hurts.” She wasn’t having it, and this time he laughed out loud. “Please, Carrie.” He kissed her face some more and she hummed happily as she graciously tilted her head back, pulling her arms away to rest back against the sheet on either side of her body. Quinn made a mental note that asking nicely was an effective strategy before being swept away by the sight of how exposed she appeared. Her lithe body was pale against the white sheets. She did not seem relaxed at all, but tense with anticipation and her own desire to take control. _Why is she doing this for me?_

He thought of his one true thing. _She loves me. We are in love._ He pulled himself up to kneel over her, between her legs, leaning a bit to his right while her pillowed hips tilted up towards him. For this one moment there was no weight on his wounds, no weight on hers. They looked right into each other’s eyes and Quinn felt like she was seeing who he really was and that he could see the real Carrie. She rolled on the condom and he pushed himself into her, gently at first, as he moved his right hand to help her feel the friction he was feeling. Then he let the rhythm of emotions and feelings build until they washed away all his thoughts in a rush of release.

They slept for twelve hours.

****

There were four seats facing each other on one edge of the large hold in the military transport plane, one of which was occupied. The rest of the space, where other seats might have been, was filled with HummVees and other armored transport vehicles strapped securely to the floor and walls. At least Max hoped they were secure as he climbed up into the hold from the lower flight deck. At any rate, he anticipated with dismay that the flight was not going to be optimized for passengers, and it was likely to get cold once they reached cruising altitude. Cold-er. He was already shivering in his winter coat. He did not look forward to 12 hours of being freezing, strapped in next to three strangers in the midst of a giant flying garage. Of course, he didn’t exactly look forward to arriving or anything else about this assignment. Dar had assured him that this short posting would be his best chance to wait out the ire of Onyx and Brett O’Keefe. Max didn’t believe that for a second, but he didn’t have too many options. 

Resignedly, he squared his shoulders and proceeded the few steps forward to the seats. 

“Hi, I’m Nate. You must be Max?” The guy, who seemed about 12 years old, had to speak loudly over the hum of the idling plane engines. Nate stood up and shook his hand so that Max reflexively smiled back and returned the handshake. He would reserve judgment. Max sat down next to one of the two windows, diagonally across from Nate, which left each of them facing one empty seat. Since there were supposed to be four on the team, the other two would eventually to take those, but for now, they could each stretch out their legs. Max stowed his laptop bag underneath his own seat and wondered if the other two would be as young and eager as Nate, or as old and tired as he felt. 

But when he saw Nate look up, Max turned back and saw the last thing he expected: Carrie and Quinn, entering the hold looking serious and pissed, as usual. _What the fuck?_

Quinn scowled as walked/shuffled directly to Nate, who jumped up to do the handshake thing again. Quinn cut him off and started speaking first. 

“Peter Quinn, this is Carrie Mathison. Who rr-rr..?” Quinn nodded emphatically at Nate. Jesus, the aphasia made the guy even more terrifying. Max tried not to smirk as Nate looked ready to piss his pants.

“I - I’m Nate. Hi! I’ve heard…”

“We’re together. You’re sitting next to Max.” 

_What the fuck?_

Nate just nodded and began moving his things as Quinn glared down at him disapprovingly. Carrie took advantage of Nate’s leaning over to slip by and she sank into the seat across from Max. She gave him a genuinely warm smile. “Thank God you’re here.” Suddenly he felt less upset. She looked exhausted.

“Hi,” Carrie smiled at Nate, all professional and taking charge. “Saul speaks highly of you. Happy to have you on the team.” 

“Uhh…” Nate continued fumbling to get himself settled. 

Quinn sat down heavily and nodded to Max. He arranged himself so that he was taking up just a bit of the space where Nate’s legs might have gone, enough to show he was in charge. Max had initially wondered if he’d interpreted “We’re together” correctly, but Quinn’s hand lightly stroked the inside of Carrie’s wrist as they settled in, so the situation was crystal clear.

_Fuck me. This assignment is going to be more of a disaster than I bargained for._

Nate attempted to reestablish professionalism. “Mr. Berenson wanted me to…”

Quinn cut him off. “You can b-brief us right before landing. Now we should sleep.”

“I think you have a briefing book for us, Nate?” asked Carrie. 

Nate merely nodded and handed her a large binder. 

Max took advantage of the exchange to catch Carrie’s eye, and he hoped his expression conveyed: _“What the hell? Quinn is in no shape to be on active duty. The two of you as a couple all of a sudden is an explosive situation. You haven’t worked for the agency in years. What the fucking hell?”_

But if Carrie read all that in Max’s look, she gave no indication. She didn’t ask him what had happened or why he was there. She simply opened the briefing book on her lap and looked out the window. Quinn laid his head back and closed his eyes, possibly asleep already. 

_You’re welcome for fucking up the Onyx servers so that the internet didn’t fill up with garbage about you both. I risked my ass so that you wouldn’t both be condemned as traitorous murderers, so, you’re welcome._ As Max’s thoughts continued in this direction, he noticed Carrie’s phone vibrate. She turned it off and immediately leaned over to Quinn and whispered in his ear, then kissed him quickly on the cheek and resumed staring out the window instead of at her open book. Quinn’s face remained impassive, but then a kind of smile slowly began to creep over his face and he seemed to relax. A little.

Well. That was something.

“Did Dar tell you six weeks?” Of all the questions in Max’s mind, that was the most reasonable he could find to ask out loud.

Apparently, the question made sense to Quinn, because he didn’t ignore it. He opened his eyes and nodded at Max saying: “Six weeks. Two months, tops, then we’re back home.” After that, the roar of the engines got louder, making further conversation impossible. Max watched Quinn take Carrie’s hand. They both stared out the small window thoughtfully as the plane began to taxi down the runway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this was originally the end, but AsCloseAsThis convinced me to write an epilogue. My goal for this story was to switch the power imbalance so that Carrie was the one who needed Quinn to take care of her, rather than the other way around, and then to leave them off in a place where the reader can imagine their story continues with something like Season 4. Franny is safe and out of the picture. Carrie and Quinn together, determined and struggling to get away from darkness but still stuck because they have to ensure Franny's future safety. Dar and Saul are funny and pulling the strings that entangle Carrie and Quinn. Max is with them to provide a sane perspective on all the insanity.   
> Stay tuned for an epilogue that will come soon!


	9. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you AsCloseAsThis for encouraging me to write the epilogue.

Dave woke up as the warmth of the sun on his face became uncomfortably hot. The shadow of the umbrella had moved in the last hour, and he was exposed. Fuck. The plastic surgeon had been clear he needed to keep the sun off his new nose.

“Hey Carrie! Franny needs to reapply.” He called to his wife digging with his daughter right where the waves hit the beach. His nieces and sister-in-law were swimming about 30 yards offshore, and he fought off a momentary sense of panic that the deep water represented a danger.

He made a compromise with himself: he’d stay vigilant and ready to dive in, but he wouldn’t scream at them to come closer. He sighed. His life was full of compromises these days. Who knew having a family would require so much equivocation? Honestly, he hadn’t considered how much marrying Carrie would enmesh him in the lives of others — family, friends. Not that Carrie had too many friends, but Franny needed to be part of a community, and that meant relationships with people for more than a single purpose. Mission “Raise Franny” was like deep, deep fucking cover.

But Operation “Family Vacation” was short-term, almost over, and a huge success. Carrie had been working too hard at the State Department on a deal in Bahrain. Once the agreement was completed, her supervisor, Martha Boyd, had suggested some time off. Carrie had originally wanted to use the time to finish up the Bahrain details, but Dave had pushed for taking a real break together. His own schedule was flexible. He spent most of his time taking care of Franny and working on physical therapy, although he was planning to commit more regular hours to his volunteer work as a mentor for teenage boys in the foster care system. They pulled Franny out of school and rented a cottage right on Virginia Beach. Maggie and her family were able to join them for a long weekend. The weather had been perfect.

Of course, nothing is ever completely perfect. There had been one night when they built a fire on the beach and the image of the bright flames on the sand in the cold air had triggered a flashback. Suddenly he had been certain the ISIS-allied clansmen were behind the fire, coming to hurt Franny. He had to use his lens, his one true thing: he reminded himself that Carrie loved him, and then he started building his reality out from there. 

_Carrie loves me, she wanted to spend time relaxing with me and Franny, we are vacationing at the beach._ That reality was built on the one true thing he knew, so he decided to behave as though it were true. 

The other reality — the one where evil forces had lured them into the desert to harm Franny — that was possible, but it wasn’t built on the one true thing, so he chose to believe it was false. After a few minutes, making the choice suddenly became easier, and a few minutes after that, he knew automatically that the vacation was real and the evil forces were a delusion. Probably. 

In truth, changing his name and changing his face had not change the fact that he still was deeply fucked-up, with serious physical and psychological problems. But Carrie had been right, each day he spent with his two girls, his family, was healing. They deliberately arranged their lives so that they minimized stress, and over time the peace was beginning to seep in along the edges of his mind. Carrie’s too, he thought, as he watched her laughing while she chased Franny back to the towel and into her father’s waiting arms. 

Carrie laughed a lot more these days. She had seemed completely on top of things before, but he had sensed how hard she had been working to maintain control over her emotions — even in Berlin. As his own cognition returned, Carrie was able to find time for yoga and she could exercise more, allowing her to reduce the dosage of her medication so that she seemed more ’herself.’ She was more carefree — still level, but feeling life’s ups and downs intensely, and much more emotionally expressive with him and with Franny. 

“Feel better after your nap?” Carrie asked him as they worked together to spread sun-screen all over Franny. He’d had a headache in the morning. 

“Yeah. Better.” His head still ached a little, but it was better. 

She leaned over and kissed him with an open mouth. “You were so right to insist we take this time to focus on each other.”

He would never take those kisses for granted - her kisses gave him a jolt of happiness every time. He used to wonder whether he and Carrie could heal each other, but now he thought in terms of trajectories. They both helped each other to move in a better direction. That was enough. Neither one of them would ever be ‘healed,’ as though emotional health was a destination where they could arrive. He just needed one true thing to keep pointing him in the right direction. 

“Better.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks once more to AsCloseAsThis, Pinkys143, and Laure for beta reading and comments! Thanks everyone for your encouraging comments.


End file.
